


Waiting Dragons

by Dragonbat



Series: Heartstrings [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Magic Bedknob/Bonfires and Broomsticks (Mary Norton), The Ordinary Princess - M.M. Kaye, Unidentified Flying Oddball/A Spaceman in King Arthur's Court, Witch Mountain (Movies - Hough)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death by non-canonical means, F/M, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Revenge, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2019-08-04 09:33:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 170,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16344293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragonbat/pseuds/Dragonbat
Summary: While Rumple and Belle try to rebuild their relationship in the aftermath of Heartstrings a threat from Emma's past arrives in Storybrooke bent on revenge. Rumbelle with sides of CS, OutlawQueen, Dwarfstar, and Snowing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is the sequel to my earlier fic, Heartstrings. While I hope I'm making this one accessible enough to anyone who hasn't read it, I might fall short at times. So, in a nutshell, we're in an AU in which Rumple reached out and phoned Belle instead of Ursula after his heart attack in 4B. She, Emma, and August went to New York to help him. Right now? Rumple is no longer the Dark One. He and Belle are trying to rebuild their relationship. August is no longer in danger of reverting to wood. Zelena is currently locked up in a cell beneath the hospital and pregnant with Robin's child. Oh, and Lily has just arrived in New York bent on revenge for what the Charmings did to her mother and has made contact with Ursula.

**Waiting Dragons**

 

_"How should we be able to forget those myths that are at the beginning of all peoples, the myths about dragons that at the last moment turn into princesses; perhaps all the dragons in our lives are princesses who are only waiting to see us act, just once, with beauty and courage. Perhaps everything that frightens us is, in its deepest essence, something helpless that wants our love."_

_—_ _Rainer Maria Rilke_ , _Letters to a Young Poet_

**Chapter One**

 

Rumpelstiltskin awoke at his usual hour, donned a robe over his pajamas, and made his way to the window. The sun hadn't fully risen yet, but the sky was definitely growing lighter. It was less than a week now until the winter solstice. Another month or so and he wouldn't need to dress by lamplight if the Venetian window shade slats were opened slightly.

His bedroom was warm and Rumple was almost reluctant to get dressed, have breakfast and go outside. He knew he had to, though. If he didn't, Emma would be concerned when she popped by the shop on her way to the sheriff station and found the door still barred. Then she'd either be here, knocking on his door or calling Booth to check in on him.

That reminded him. He was due at Marco's for dinner tonight. He paused in the doorway of his walk-in closet. Normally, there was no question of what he would wear: whichever Armani suit caught his eye, to be coordinated with the proper dress shirt and tie. But Marco wasn't much given to formality. Rumple wasn't even certain whether the handyman owned a suit. And he'd never seen August in even a sports jacket. Perhaps, Armani would be overdressing? If he had time to go home and change first, then there was no issue. But if not… Perhaps he ought to bring a change of clothing—a more casual change of clothing—with him.

As he brushed past the designer suits to the clothes at the back of his closet that he wasn't certain he'd even looked at, much less worn, during or after the 28 years of the Dark Curse, he realized that he was smiling. And scant wonder. Had anyone told him four months ago there would be people to look in on him when they didn't need a favor or a deal, or that anyone would even notice if he went missing, much less worry about him, or that anyone would care enough to invite him to dine with them, he would have been hard-pressed not to laugh in their faces. But now…

His clothing selections made—both for now and for later—he dressed swiftly and snapped up his phone from the dresser where it was charging. Before he put it into his jacket pocket, he pulled up the directory. He knew it was there, but it still gave him a rush of warmth to see the latest addition to that list. And even if he never called it, just having it meant more than those who had given it to him could ever know.

There was a message from Belle reminding him about their lunch date and whether he wanted to pick her up at the library, have her stop off at the shop, or just meet at the restaurant. He shook his head, but he was still smiling. Belle had never been ashamed to be seen with him, but she was still needlessly embarrassed to show her face at Granny's after what she'd done there several weeks ago. This, even though Rumple had a strong suspicion that most of the other patrons would be falling over themselves to congratulate her. Belle apparently thought otherwise. And truthfully, Rumple wasn't inclined to press matters.

As deeply as Belle had wounded him in the past, as frightened as he'd been about letting her back into his life, he had to admit that these last few days had been almost as unbelievably wonderful as the day she'd stumbled into his shop for the first time, right before Emma had broken the curse. They were still feeling each other out, still exploring their new relationship, and it was terrifying and glorious and even if they still weren't sure that they could finally get it right, Rumple found himself daring to hope that they would. And today would be another step down a path that both were finally finding the courage to explore. Rumple couldn't wait.

There had been a couple of tense moments between them the evening before last, and he'd been tempted to lie as he would have on previous occasions. He hadn't wanted to upset her and telling her what he knew she'd wanted to hear would have smoothed things over for the time being, but eventually the truth would have come out and she would have been all the more upset. Being honest with her had almost been harder than letting her back in, but he'd somehow managed it. And while Belle hadn't exactly smiled and said that everything was perfectly all right, she hadn't walked away either. Things were complicated, but for once, Rumple didn't see 'complicated' as a deal-breaker.

He was actually whistling as he fastened his tie. And then he broke off abruptly, and his eyes grew wide as he realized what it all meant.

 _"_ _I'm… happy,"_ he whispered almost fearfully, half-wondering whether speaking the words aloud would somehow wreck it all. And in truth, his eyes darted nervously about, nearly certain that he was about to get a call or a text telling him that some of his plans had fallen through, or that there was some new disaster looming, or that somebody had just discovered some misdeed he'd committed long ago and forgotten about and was just about to burst in and take him to task for it.

His phone didn't buzz. The street outside was quiet. And there was nobody pounding on his door. After a moment, feeling slightly foolish, Rumple reached for his cane and made his way downstairs to the vestibule. But as he took his woolen winter coat off the hanger, the words kept reverberating in his mind.

_I'm happy. I'm happy._

And he _was_.

* * *

Belle _knew_ she was being silly. Or, if she wasn't being silly, she needed to get past hurt feelings and admit to herself that after these last months, Rumple's feelings were scarcely unjustified.

All this time, she'd wanted him to be truthful with her, but now that he was doing so, she realized that perhaps, she hadn't been ready for this level of honesty. In the past, she'd tried to be everything for him. When she'd realized that she wasn't, that his dagger—his _power_ —still gave him something she couldn't, she'd taken it badly. And while she'd had some reason for her subsequent actions, she'd had ample cause to regret them since.

But she couldn't shake the feeling that it was all happening again. She still wanted to be everything for him. She still wasn't. And what was worse, not only did she understand why, but she wasn't even certain she could disagree.

 _"_ _You could have come to me,"_ she'd told him two nights ago. _"I know we agreed to take things slowly, but surely if you needed to discuss… Rumple? Do… do you still want to be with me? Or…?"_

His shocked expression both warmed and dismayed her, but so had his answer. _"You know I do, Belle. That never changed. Even when I believed that we were both better off apart."_ He'd paused then and perhaps it was the fact that he'd had to cast about on the spot for the right words rather than try to fob her off with some glib response he'd prepared earlier that convinced her that he was telling her the truth when he spoke next. _"Belle, I never knew what True Love was before I met you. And now, I wonder how I managed to live centuries without it. Without you. But while you make me feel loved, Emma makes me feel_ safe _. And I'll confess that there are times when I do need that more."_

The words had stung, even though she knew he hadn't meant to hurt her and that he'd been trying his hardest not to. That twin realization had been the only thing that had kept her from embarrassing herself by demanding to know why he no longer felt safe with _her_. She had the sinking feeling that Rumple would tell her. And after several weeks of intense self-examination during their time apart, she'd had ample time to recognize just how badly she'd wounded him and how seriously she'd eroded his trust in her. While Rumple had hardly been blameless for the deterioration of their relationship, it had taken too long for Belle to own her part of the problem.

They were trying to put it all behind them. Not to forget it or pretend it hadn't happened, but to move past it and try to avoid making the same mistakes that had brought them to their lowest point. No more lies, no more deceptions, no more manipulative behavior. And, to his credit, Rumple was trying to uphold that agreement.

But the truth still hurt.

To her credit, Emma was fully aware of the awkwardness of the situation and she'd called Belle that same evening to assure her that what was going on between her and Rumple was strictly friendship.

 _"_ _I know it's still kind of sticky,"_ she'd added. _"That's why we met at Granny's today; I thought that it would make it clear we weren't running around behind your back or hiding anything. Unless you'd rather we did meet in private?"_

She'd rather they wouldn't meet at all. She'd rather Rumple would confide in _her_. She was still his wife, after all. He should choose her. But Belle had to admit that, even if her marriage hadn't been on shaky ground right now, Rumple probably still would have sought Emma out. And that if Rumple had turned to Archie or August, Belle's dismay would have been nearly as intense. Since she and Rumple had found each other again in this new realm, she'd felt she had to be everything for him and when she'd cast off that role, fearing that she'd lost her own way while trying to help him find his, she'd never thought that he'd find other people to support him.

Belle winced, owning that part of her hadn't wanted him to. If he wouldn't choose her, he wouldn't have anyone and he'd come to regret shoving her away. _All those times I thought I wanted him to be a better person, I think what I really wanted was for_ me _to_ make _him a better person. Why can't I be happy he's come so far on his own? Why am I still trying to make this all about me?_ She closed her eyes. _And what if he's right and I_ can't _help him with everything he's facing? Except by encouraging him to seek out the people who_ can _. Which is, I suppose, exactly what he's doing._

Belle massaged her forehead as though that could alleviate the figurative headache she was getting trying to rein in her thoughts and emotions. At least, she was recognizing a few homegrown truths this time out. She loved her husband, but notwithstanding that love, there were parts of his life that she just couldn't relate to the way Emma could. The sheriff hadn't spoken much about her early years to Belle, but from what she had told her, it seemed as though Emma and Rumple had more than a few experiences in common. If Rumple was now turning to Emma for support because Emma could better understand what he was going through, then it didn't mean that he loved Belle any less.

But it also didn't mean that Belle hadn't wanted to put her fist through her apartment wall last night after those two conversations.

She understood intellectually exactly what was going on and that it was neither a slight nor a betrayal. Emotionally, though, it felt like both. She suspected that she was probably going to spend a number of evenings wanting to punch something for the next little while. Well. Perhaps it was time to indulge _that_ desire in an appropriate fashion.

Belle looked once more at the pamphlet in her hand. Then, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and strode purposefully up the six concrete steps to Springheel Jack's Kickboxing Academy. She hesitated for less than a minute before she pulled open the double doors. Until now, this was as far as she'd gotten before turning back, but now she stepped inside for the first time and stalked up to the information desk.

"I'd like to register for beginner-level classes," she announced to the clerk, letting her words tumble out quickly before she could lose her nerve again.

* * *

"Thanks," Emma said with a distracted smile when Snow set an open-faced grilled cheese sandwich down before her. "I could've made it myself."

Her mother laughed. "Your brother woke me at five. By the time I had him fed, I could hear you moving about and just because you generally let me sleep through the night doesn't mean I can't fix you something in the morning every once in a while." She tilted her head for a moment, still smiling. "Actually, I probably should, to show my appreciation. I never realized how much I took an uninterrupted night's rest for granted before."

Emma made a non-committal sound and absently tucked in, but it was clear her mind was elsewhere.

"Everything okay?"

Emma shook her head. "You remember before you and Dad knew you were married and you were seeing each other behind Katherine's back? I kind of feel like I'm doing the same thing, even though I know it's different."

Snow sat down across from her at the table. "You mean with Rumpelstiltskin."

"Yeah. Belle knows we talk things over. We're not hiding anything."

"You're sure that she knows?" Snow asked. Then, she went on quickly, "I only mean, that when David and I were… thinking we were having an affair, if you recall, he _told_ me he'd told Katherine about us, but he really hadn't—"

"I spoke to Belle yesterday," Emma cut her off. "Gold called me to say she was trying to understand, but she wasn't thrilled. Understandably," she added. "So I followed up with her."

"And?"

"It went… sort of okay, sort of not. And I get it. I really do. Only…"

"Only there are times when Rumpelstiltskin is more comfortable talking things over with you than with her and you don't want to push him away, now that he's trying to reach out."

"Yeah. We connected in New York," Emma nodded. "And afterwards. I mean, it's not _love_. Not… romantic love, anyway…"

"Emma?"

She blinked at her mother's sudden nervousness and seemed to shake out of her previous vagueness. "No!" she exclaimed. "No, seriously… no. It's more…" She hesitated, realizing that the truth wasn't necessarily going to calm her mother down. "I guess… fatherly," she said, almost afraid to maintain eye contact. But though her mother's eyes did widen slightly, all Snow did was give a slight nod.

"I think I've noticed," she murmured. "And you did say before that you'd started thinking of him as a possible father-in- _law_ ," she added.

Emma smiled back, relieved. "Even if he and I aren't really related, he's still family. And ever since we found out that he was Henry's grandfather, we all…" Her voice trailed off, but Snow guessed what she'd been about to say.

"We've all used that against him," she said. "Getting him to help us without asking for anything in return and then looking the other way when he needed us."

"Yeah. I've been working on changing that and I feel like I'm getting through to him."

Snow tilted her head quizzically. "But…"

"Belle's still upset, even if she's trying not to show it."

"Right." Snow shook her head. "So it's…"

"Complicated. I know."

"But Rumpelstiltskin has spoken to her about it."

"Yes and so've I. And she _says_ she's okay with it, and I think she _wants_ to be okay with it, but…"

"But she's not."

Emma shook her head.

"So, what are you going to do?"

Emma realized that her coffee was getting cold and she took a gulp. "I don't know. Just… keep doing what I'm doing for now and hope that things work out. But if people start talking about me the way they did about you after Katherine—"

Snow placed her hand over Emma's. "You're my daughter and I trust you to do the right thing. Whatever it turns out to be."

Emma smiled. "Thanks."

* * *

"Papa!" August exclaimed as he trailed his father down the solid wooden steps and breathed in the dank moist air and the fragrances of garlic and dried spices in the cellar. "Whatever you serve tonight will be fine!"

Marco ignored him as he faced the floor-to-ceiling shelves of glass jars in various shapes and sizes, each one meticulously labeled with a legend penned in the handyman's careful penmanship. It wasn't until he'd loaded the low-sided wooden tray August carried with a variety of pickled and otherwise-preserved fruits and vegetables that he shook his head sorrowfully.

"My son," he said, "if I'd been satisfied with 'fine' when I carved you, then you might been brought to life with your arms too long or your legs too short. Or maybe without knee and elbow joints. If I were satisfied with 'fine' when someone brought me a clock to repair, then it wouldn't be long before some smart young lad or lady set up a competing business and stole away my customers with better craftsmanship. 'Fine' is barely passable and I thought I taught you better."

August sighed. "Yes, Papa," he said, smiling a bit. Some things just didn't change and he wouldn't have had it any other way. "But just so you know, when we were in New York, he was really more of a soup and sandwich type than a seven-course gourmet dinner type."

Marco shrugged. "I didn't say I was going to fix a gourmet dinner. Where would I even begin? But I'm not about to slapdash something together and call it stew, either." He picked up a burlap sack. "Get the potatoes and turnips. I'll see to the apples."

* * *

"Sorry this is all I can afford," Lily said as she and Ursula carried their trays to a vacant table in the fast food restaurant's seating area. "The last job I had was waitressing in a place not much better than this."

"Don't worry about it," Ursula replied, "this is kind of a treat for me. Most nights, I just come home to KD or ramen."

"Been there, done that," Lily murmured understandingly. "So…"

"So," Ursula said, "how did you find me? And find out about…?"

"My mother?" Lily finished. She took a bite out of her burger, chewed, and swallowed. "You know, I've been planning it all out in my mind how this meeting was going to go down, imagining what I'd say and what you'd say and I don't mind telling you that I am totally off-script here."

"I take it I'm not what you expected."

"You could say that," Lily replied. "I thought you'd call me your dear sweet child or something. And I guess I pictured… tentacles."

"Oh, I've got those," Ursula said. "At least, I did the last time I was in a magical realm. But as for calling you my dear sweet child? Something tells me you're none of the above."

Lily snorted. "You called that right. Okay. According to the official reports, I was found as a newborn near Ann Lake—that's Minnesota—in the Sand Dunes State Forest with this," she reached into the neckline of her shirt to pull out a silver chain with a crescent moon pendant, "and nothing else. No diaper, no blanket, it's a miracle I didn't freeze to death before some campers happened upon me. They called the authorities and I went into the system. I was adopted eight months later."

Ursula nodded. "There are a couple of us here; people from the lands from which we came. There aren't many, but I take it that if you know who you are, then your new parents must have…"

Lily snorted again. "Nope. Ma and Pa Page were as decent and ordinary and boring a couple as anyone else you could hope to find. Probably still are, I guess. I haven't seen them since they gave up on me and threw me out nearly twenty years ago." Her voice was hard and flat, displaying little emotion as she went on, "To give them credit, they tried for a while. I did too, I guess, but it seemed like no matter how much I wanted to be good and do the right thing, stuff kept... backfiring on me. It was like I was, I don't know, cursed. Or something." The last bit was accompanied by an eye-roll as she went on bitterly, "I mean, that's what I told myself, even though I knew it was a load of crap. Until one night, on a bus out of Mankato, I met an old guy who told me it wasn't."

"An 'old guy'?" Ursula repeated, raising one eyebrow skeptically. "Did he have a name?"

"He didn't give me one," Lily shrugged. Then she bent down, retrieved her knapsack from the floor and hefted it onto the table. As Ursula watched, she unbuckled the two leather straps holding down the top flap and, with both hands, hoisted out a thick hardback book with a brown leather cover. "He gave me this."


	2. Chapter Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some dialogue lifted from S4E20: "Lily". Information on the mythology and symbolism of the Hornbeam tree taken from the Woodland Trust website.

**Chapter Two**

"May I?" Ursula asked, reaching hesitantly for the book.

Lily nodded and passed it over. "Be my guest."

Ursula's eyebrow shot up once more as she read the title aloud. " _Long Ago and Far Away Across the Western Sea_? He gave you a book of folk tales?"

Lily sat up a bit straighter and shot back with some irritation, "You might like the first one. It's all about a prince and princess who stole a dragon egg to use in a ritual to protect their unborn daughter, then banished the egg to another land, separating mother and child forever." Her voice dropped to an ominous whisper. "Or at least, until this day." She smiled. "That's how it ends. I've read that chapter over so many times I've practically memorized it."

"There's a page missing, it looks like," Ursula noted, as she flipped the leaves slowly forward, not quite able to conceal her shock at the accuracy of some of the illustrations.

"Yeah, it's an old book," Lily replied. "It's not in the greatest shape. I can still figure out the story, even without it. There are a few other good ones if you read on, but the first's my favorite."

"Who was the old man?"

Lily sighed. "I don't know exactly. I never saw him again. But he knew things about me that nobody else could have. Like about my necklace and how it ties in with this," she pulled up her sleeve to disclose a star-shaped birthmark on her wrist.

"Honey," Ursula said, "in my spare time I moonlight as a horoscope writer for a few papers. I know all about how to tell half a story and let you fill in the rest and convince you I'm some kind of seer. It's about playing on the credulity of others. It's a slick con, but it is a con."

"He didn't see the birthmark," Lily said with a faint smile. "He just knew about it. And he knew about me, too."

"Sure he did."

Lily pulled an overdone French fry out of the cardboard pocket and stabbed it into the pool of ketchup she'd poured into the top half of her Styrofoam burger box. "He told me that when I was ready, I should go to New York and visit the Hornby Aquarium and that _you'd_ be the first person I'd meet there." She paused for a beat. "That was almost seventeen years ago."

Ursula had been in the act of dunking an onion ring into tartar sauce. She dropped it and it landed on the edge of the tray, before it flopped to the table. She didn't notice. "What else did he tell you?" she asked, all mockery gone from her voice now.

Lily smiled. "Enough..."

* * *

_She didn't know what the hell was the matter with her. Every time she had something—or someone—good in her life, she either screwed it up or something else backfired to make it all blow up in her face._

_Emma was just the latest disaster on a list that had been started almost before she could recall. Lily had been filling her shopping cart with groceries she didn't need, for which she'd intended to pay with a credit card that wasn't hers, when she'd spied a girl her own age ineptly trying to shove a box of toaster pastries into her jacket pocket. Either a total amateur, someone begging to get caught, or both. Sure enough, a loss prevention officer was already approaching with a determined look on her face. Lily was never sure what came over her, why she exerted herself to help a total stranger. It hadn't been compassion—she'd never had much of that and everyone knew it. And, strangely enough, it hadn't been a chance to 'stick it to the store' either. Somehow, she'd sensed a kindred spirit in this other girl in a way she'd never felt about anyone else._

_Oh, she'd tried to make friends before, but she'd always ended up feeling like a phony. She knew the words she was supposed to say, the things she was expected to be interested in, and she tried to blend in, but sooner or later, she showed bits of her real self and people started edging away. Something told her that this new girl wouldn't be like the others._

_And so, Lily had stepped in and bailed Emma out. And they'd become instant friends. When Emma had admitted to being on the run from her last foster home and assumed that Lily was as well, it had felt like the most natural thing in the world to go along with it. Her own parents didn't understand her and she was used to feeling like an outsider. Maybe she was legally adopted, but she felt like she might as well be a foster kid, too—at least going by Emma's description of what her own life was like._

_Of course things went south once adoptive-dad showed up and the truth came out and, this time, Lily knew she had only herself to blame. Emma had turned away in pain and anger and Lily would have given anything for a second chance._

_Two years later, she'd gotten one, and promptly blown that one too._

_So now, she was on a bus out of Mankato, headed for Pittsburgh and trying her hardest to keep up her tough-girl act because if she didn't, she knew that was going to start sobbing like a baby in front of forty or so total strangers._

_She had her crescent moon pendant out and was holding it up before her on its chain when a voice said softly, "That's a lovely necklace."_

_Lily didn't turn to face the speaker. She wasn't in the mood for conversation. But she also didn't want a lecture about a lack of good manners, so she thanked him and hoped he'd move on. He didn't._

_"_ _Did you ever notice how it complements the birthmark on your wrist?"_

_Although the voice was gentle, there was something about it that sent a chill down her spine. She turned to see an elderly man occupying the seat beside her. She hadn't heard it creak when he sat down. "How did you know that?" she asked nervously._

_"_ _I know about a lot of things, Lilith." Then, seeing her agitation, he said quickly, "Don't be alarmed child. I can see that you have many questions. Fortunately, I have many answers."_

_"_ _Answers?" she'd repeated stupidly. She should've sat by the emergency exit. She could be out and away from this creep in an instant if she had been. Yeah, she'd probably get scraped up jumping from a moving vehicle, but she'd survived worse. Much worse._

_The old man continued calmly, "About who you really are and why your life has always felt so… wrong."_

_Great. Another minute and he was going to hand her a JW pamphlet or a Chick tract. But playing along might be the safest thing. Take what he had, thank him, and hope he moved back to wherever he'd been sitting before he'd started freaking her out. "And who am I?" she demanded._

_"_ _A victim of the unfortunate vagaries of Fate, for which, I'm afraid, I am partially responsible. In fact… I shouldn't even be telling you this."_

_She tried not to let her nervousness show. "You're crazy."_

_"You are not as responsible for your own misery as you would believe. The deck has been stacked against you, Lilith, and it's not your fault. Everything you do will be harder. And I owe it to you to let you know why. I owe you the truth."_

_It still sounded crazy. But he knew her name. Her real one. She'd never liked 'Lilith'; she always used 'Lily'. One more way to rebel against Ma and Pa Page who'd shunned the diminutive. Most people didn't think 'Lily' was short for anything. And she had to admit that she was curious about what he wanted to tell her. Not that she believed a word of it, of course. But she was still curious. She considered for a moment. Then she made up her mind. "Okay, Yoda," she rapped out. "Enough riddles. What's the truth?"_

_The old man regarded her seriously. "Let's start with the necklace…"_

_For nearly an hour, she listened while the old man told her of other realms, fairies, dragons, curses, and compulsions. And by the end of it, she still wasn't sure what to believe, but she also couldn't quite dismiss what he was saying out of hand._

_"So, you're saying that… Snow White and Prince Charming kidnapped me, put their daughter's darkness in me and forced you to send me here? And now, they're here too?"_

_"The coercion wasn't on their part," the old man corrected. "But the rest is true."_

_"And you expect me to believe that."_

_The old man smiled. "I think that's probably asking a bit much at the moment. You've lived all your life believing that magic was fakery and histories were fiction. I believe it ought to take more than one conversation with a mysterious old man on a bus, don't you?" He didn't wait for her answer. "So, here."_

_"What's this?" she asked, as he handed her a heavy leather-bound book._

_"You've been on this conveyance for slightly over an hour and a half now. It will be more than twenty-three hours before you reach Pittsburgh. Just think of this as something to pass the time. And, in approximately twelve years? Think of it as a roadmap."_

_"A roadmap."_

_"When that time comes," the old man added, "you'll want to visit the Hornby Aquarium in Manhattan…"_

* * *

Waiting in a longish line for takeout supper at Granny's, a hungry Sister Astrid checked her watch nervously, but it still read a quarter to six and she wasn't due at the hospital until six-thirty. Come to think of it, it had read a quarter to six on her dashboard clock when she'd parked her car, too. That wasn't right. Maybe her watch was off by a minute or two, but… _Oh no_.

Nervously, Astrid looked up at the clock over the counter and stifled a shriek. It was twenty past six. Her watch must have stopped. And she'd only just placed her order and there were at least half a dozen people in the queue ahead of her and…

She mumbled an apology, knowing that the staff was too busy to hear her anyway and ran, weaving around tables and chairs, shouting apologies as she jostled Bashful's elbow, causing the dwarf to spill his soup. Pitching forward as her foot came down on Aurora's and managing to grab the edge of the table before she face-planted into baby Phillip's cradle.

"I'm sorry!" she gasped over her shoulder as she righted herself and stumbled for the door.

"Oh!" she exclaimed as she barreled full-tilt into someone else.

The other person gripped her arm gently but firmly, keeping her on her feet. "Careful, sister," he rumbled. "Take it easy."

Astrid gulped and nodded. "Thank you…" Then her eyes widened and an uncertain smile sprang to her lips. "Dreamy?"

The dwarf shook his head, but he was smiling. "It's Grumpy now, sister. Has been for a long time." He was still holding her arm and Astrid didn't want him to let go. Especially not when he continued, "And I've been wanting to talk to you since the first curse broke, only I wasn't sure if you'd be willing to give me another chance after all this time."

She was hungry. She was running late. And he'd dashed her hopes and dreams and broken her heart for no reason she'd even understood. And yet, somehow, she found herself replying, "I g-guess we'd better get out of the doorway then an-and sit down…"

* * *

Zelena stood on her mattress, looked out her cell window and sighed. The sun was going down and she'd had no visitors today. Again.

She shook her head with annoyance. The Blue Fairy was a prim, self-righteous irritant that she'd told herself she'd be glad to see the back of. Confinement was one thing, but really, she hadn't expected the heroes to subject her to torture on top of it.

On the other hand, much as Zelena hated to admit it, the little prig's presence hadn't been totally unwelcome. At least she'd given Zelena an outlet for her frustrations. The witch looked at the reading material piled on her cot and sighed. The nurse had dropped off several magazines with breakfast, but the witch had no desire to thumb through them. _Fit Pregnancy, Pregnancy & Newborn, Mothering Magazine_… Why couldn't her sister just rip out her heart and crush it? At least that way, it would be quick.

Not for the first time, she tugged at the leather cuff on her wrist, probing for some weak point. Not for the first time, she didn't find one. She'd tried lubricating it, first with the pat of butter that came with her daily breakfast, then with the salad dressing that came with her daily lunch. No luck.

The mattress shifted ever so slightly beneath her feet and she looked down to find that Billina was pecking at her blanket again. She groaned. "Come on, Billina," she addressed the yellow hen. "I need _some_ comfort here. I don't know that they'll give me another cover if you unravel this one."

Her eyes widened. She looked at the blanket again. Then she studied the cuff. "I wonder…" she said thoughtfully. Her gaze flickered to the corner of the cell, where the security camera was mounted. Then, deliberately, she dropped to her knees on the mattress. She regarded the hen once more before she slid off the bed and, keeping her back to the camera and hoping that she was blocking it from seeing too closely what she was about, bent to scoop up some of the feed that was still in a semblance of a pile. Chickens were messy beasts and Billina had a habit of scattering the fine yellow grain about the cell floor.

She spilled the meal into her half-empty water cup. Too thin. She scooped up a second handful and then a third. She stirred the mixture with a plastic knife, working it into a paste. Then she set the cup on the shelf by her bed for a moment, while she stretched out on the mattress and pulled up the bedclothes.

Zelena waited for several moments before she reached for her cup and, under the blanket, scooped out some of the cornmeal mixture and spread it over the seam of cuff. She wasn't entirely certain that this would work. Even if the stitching were removed, there was no guarantee that it would break the magic that sealed the cuff against its wearer's removal. But it was the best idea she had right now.

"Billina," she coaxed. "Come, beautiful one. See what I've got for you. That's it. Come get your treat, beautiful one. That's a girl…"

* * *

He shouldn't have worn the suit, Rumple reflected with a pang of dismay. Not that Marco or August showed any indication whatsoever that they minded it. But, for once, he truly felt overdressed. Both of the other men wore chinos with button-down shirts. Marco had added a cardigan vest to his ensemble. August had opted for a cable-knit pullover, which he wore like a cape with the sleeves knotted loosely about his neck.

Rumple debated removing his suit jacket, but suspected that the phrase 'trying too hard' would likely apply.

"That commission you gave me is coming along," August commented as they proceeded to the dining room. "It just takes some time carving all those pegs."

"Not too tedious, I trust?" Rumple asked, relieved not to have to cast about to make conversation.

August smiled. "Sometimes, it helps to have something mindless to do. Usually, that's when inspiration hits."

"Inspiration."

August's smile widened. "You know I'm a writer. Not a very well-known one, of course, but I've managed to sell a couple of stories to anthologies here and there. I tend to get my ideas when my hands are busy and my mind is free."

"Ah." Rumple could understand that. Spinning had often served the same purpose in his own case. He said as much to August.

"I can see that," the younger man nodded. "Besides, if boredom sets in, I can work on the ships. I'm trying to save those for last."

Marco cleared his throat and the two immediately took their seats. The dining room was in a style that could best be described as 'natural' or 'rustic'. The walls were buff-colored and accented by support beams of a dark natural wood. There were similar beams buttressing the ceiling. A table and chairs of the same wood occupied most of the room.

And on the table… Rumple's eyes grew wide. Several round cheeses with waxy rinds greeted him, as did a large loaf of crusty bread, butter, and an assortment of small carved bowls, each holding a different pickled vegetable. A larger bowl that contained a number of breadcrumb-coated balls occupied the center. From the aroma that wafted toward him, they appeared to be of smoked fish combined with a healthy amount of dill.

It was the sort of fare that he'd enjoyed in his own village in the years before the Ogres War had brought harder times upon them all. "Wherever did you find pickled celery?" he breathed. Some vegetables—cucumbers, beets, and onions came readily to mind—were found easily enough in any of Storybrooke's half-dozen or so grocery stores. Celery, ramps, and turnips were quite a different matter.

Marco smiled. "My garden, he was good to me this summer," he admitted, lowering his eyes modestly.

"They're homemade," Rumple stated, trying to conceal his surprise.

"Papa's always grown our vegetables," August broke in. "At least, what we didn't find growing wild." He grinned at his father. "I think you had me foraging for purslane almost as soon as we got back home after that storm."

"It was late in the season," the handyman pointed out. "I wanted to enjoy it at least once before it was gone for the year." To Rumple, he added, "Some things, even a curse can't make you forget. And a good pickled turnip is one of them." So saying, he speared one of the aforementioned morsels with the serving fork next to the dish and slid it onto his plate. "Try for yourself," he invited, passing the dish to Rumple. "August, leave some trout dumplings for the rest of us," he said sharply.

"Sorry, Papa," August murmured. There were already a half-dozen balls on his plate, but plenty more remained in the serving bowl when he passed it to his father.

Rumple closed his eyes, savoring the turnip. "We didn't use juniper berries in the brine in my village," he murmured, recognizing the piney, peppery flavor. He opened his eyes. "Perhaps, we should have."

"Where was that?" Marco asked, interested.

Rumple's fork was halfway to his mouth again, but he lowered it. "At the time," he said, "it was in the Frontlands. I suppose, by the time you were born, the area would likely have been called Ogre-Rout."

Marco frowned for a moment, thinking. "I was never there myself. But thinking on what the merchants from that region brought to sell in our marketplaces… you would have used fennel and coriander?"

Rumple nodded. "Dill-seed, too. And saffron when we had it. When the war came, though, that was the first thing seized for taxes to pay the army."

"We lived in a place called Hornbeam Grove," Marco sighed. "Once the battlefront drew nigh, well. After six weeks, you could have called us Hornbeam _Memory_."

Rumple winced. He knew the properties of the tree in question, of course. Its sap was the key ingredient in no fewer than twenty stamina-boosting potions, while its leaves were revered for their ability to staunch bleeding and heal wounds speedily. In wartime, the hornbeam was more than worth its weight in gold. "That's hard," he murmured.

"That's life," Marco returned and Rumple was startled into a smile to hear _that_ rejoinder—a familiar refrain in any village where open criticism of one's feudal lord was a risky endeavor—again.

"Indeed it is," he said. "Indeed it is."

Marco picked up the dumplings bowl and held it out to him. "Smoked trout?"

Rumple felt his tension rapidly dissipating and he extended his hands for it with a smile. "Please."

* * *

"So, the Blue Fairy told you that…" Astrid's voice trailed off.

Grumpy shrugged. "I knew how much you wanted to be a fairy godmother one day. I didn't want you to give up your dream for me."

"For us!" Astrid protested. "Drea—Grumpy, it wasn't giving up my dream; it was changing it!"

"You would have lost your wings," Grumpy pointed out. "Become mortal. I couldn't let you do that. You didn't understand what it would cost you."

"Did you ask me if I did?" Astrid demanded. "Grumpy, did it never occur to you that because I'm immortal, I'm… not quite as young as I look."

"I thought—" Grumpy looked stunned. "I mean…"

Astrid sighed. "I'm a couple of hundred, I guess. It's hard to be sure. But that's not important. Grumpy, I don't want to spend another five hundred years gathering fairy dust and hoping that _maybe_ I'll get a chance to be a godmother, if I do _really_ well." She made a face. "Honestly? I'm not going to do really well. And if I do, I won't be able to keep it up."

"Don't talk like that."

Astrid shook her head, but she was smiling. "I'm not running myself down, if that's what you're thinking. I'm facing facts. Look, when you're a fairy, being selected to be a godmother is, well, it's what we all dream of doing. But sometimes, dreams don't come true."

"Yours still could," Grumpy insisted.

"Maybe," Astrid said. "If I spend all my time trying to squeeze myself into a mold that'll fit me like a dress two sizes too small. And at the end of it, I won't be me, and I won't be happy, but I also won't be able to admit it because I'll be living everyone else's dream." Astrid shook her head. "When I met you, I suddenly realized that it wasn't _my_ dream. It was just the dream everyone said I _should_ have and, novice that I was, I believed them. Until you gave me another one."

Grumpy blinked. "I did?" he asked, sounding confused.

Astrid nodded, smiling. "You were the first person I met who made me feel like it was okay to be me."

"But the Blue Fairy told me that if we ran away together, that it would end badly. Nova, I couldn't be responsible for you losing your wings."

Astrid burst into laughter, but there was a sob mixed into it. "I haven't had wings for over thirty years, Grumpy and I don't miss them!" She shook her head. "But I have missed you."

"She told me that the feelings I had for you were only a dream."

"Leroy, there's nothing 'only' about dreams!"

"And that you could be a great fairy, if I let you."

Astrid froze. "If you _let_ me?" she repeated, sounding angry for the first time. "If you let me. _That's_ what she said to you? Argh! I don't believe what I'm hearing."

"Sister…"

Her face softened. "I'm not mad at you, Dreamy," she said, not seeming to notice that she'd used his former name. "Really, I'm not. But whether I become great or not isn't something you decide. Or her. Maybe not even me. I don't know. I do know this: if either of you had _asked_ me whether I was willing to give up my wings back in the Enchanted Forest instead of making the decision _for_ me, I would have said 'yes'! Dreamy… I love you."

Grumpy seized her hands in his and held them tightly. "And I love you, too," he said softly. "But… is it real?"

"It feels real to me," Astrid assured him. "Or do you still think we're both dreaming?"

Grumpy considered. Then he released one of her hands and rolled up his sleeve. He took a deep breath. Then he pinched himself hard… harder…

"Dreamy?"

He waited another few seconds before letting go. "It's no dream," he said. "And if it is… don't wake me."

Astrid's eyes glistened. Then she reached for his free hand once more and squeezed it.

* * *

Merryweather heard Tink out in stony silence. Then she shook her head decisively. "No."

"But—"

"I don't want to hear another word," she cut her off. "I stepped into Reul's place temporarily and now that she's back, I'm out."

"But you were so good at it!" Tink protested. "Everyone's saying so!"

Merryweather raised an eyebrow. "I didn't realize you'd taken a poll," she remarked tartly. "I held the post for barely a week. And it was a _quiet_ week. I'm an able enough administrator, I suppose—"

"Able enough?" Tink gasped. "Why you were practically perfect in every way!"

"Then think of this as not overstaying my welcome and giving you lot the opportunity to find fault with me. I'm not out to… to wrest power from Reul and that's that," she finished decisively, just as her office door swung open and both fairies looked toward it.

Astrid stomped—if one could be said to stomp in crepe rubber-soled shoes—in and slammed the door behind her. "Did you just say, 'Wrest power from Reul'?" she demanded, her face flushed and her eyes glittering with unaccustomed rage.

Really, this was getting out of hand. "I—" Before Merryweather could get another syllable out, Astrid plunged on.

"Because if you are, count me in."


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

The Blue Fairy was not passing a pleasant evening at Storybrooke Hospital. Sister Astrid hadn't turned up for her shift. Blue was used to the young fairy bursting in at the last minute or—admittedly, less frequently than in the past—several minutes _after_ the last minute, but never more than a half hour after she was scheduled.

She considered phoning the convent to verify whether the novice was quite all right. Fairies didn't get sick, but that didn't mean that some other mischief might be afoot. She couldn't think who might be instigating it, though. Green had been a little _too_ overjoyed to inform her that Rumpelstiltskin was no longer the Dark One. Regina's Evil Queen days were apparently a thing of the past. And Zelena—as she well knew—was in no condition to instigate much of anything beyond a jibe, a jeer, or a pointed insult.

No, doubtless Astrid—Nova—was off daydreaming somewhere and had lost track of time. Blue shook her head. Some fairies, it must be owned, were given to flightiness and giddiness, but they were supposed to settle down and outgrow such things. And Nova wasn't. Well. It was just as well that Storybrooke's children had less need for godmothers in this realm than they might have back home.

But she was going to have words with the novice at the first opportunity.

Meanwhile, she thought as she rolled her eyes ceiling-ward, there was work to do. Merryweather had done an able enough job running things in her absence, but it was time to take the reins. And if Nova couldn't be bothered to perform her duties, well, it fell to Blue to step into the breach. Really, where _would_ Nova be without her?

* * *

Merryweather heard Nova out silently, ignoring Tink's periodic angry intakes of breath. Finally, when the young fairy was done, she sighed. "I can see why you're upset," she murmured. "While fairies can certainly _feel_ love for others, the instances of one of us being _in_ love are so rare that I don't believe it's happened more than a dozen times in the last five centuries. And dwarves? I can't recall a single occasion when _that's_ transpired. But," she added, holding up a warning hand as Nova opened her mouth to protest, "just because I can't name a time when it's happened before doesn't mean that it's not happening now."

"Are you saying…?" Tink let her voice trail off, but there was no mistaking her excitement.

Merryweather sighed again. "What I'm saying," she said, "is that the way things have always been isn't necessarily the way they are now or the way they always will be. But I would be far more convinced if you could show me some precedent, some accounting or even some legend that corroborates what you're telling me. I mean," she added not unkindly, "what you feel for… Grumpy, is it?"

"I guess it is now," Nova said. "But he was Dreamy when we first met."

"I'm going to assume that's a name and not a comment on his physique," Merryweather retorted, but there was a twinkle in her eye that told the other two fairies that she knew exactly what Nova had intended to mean. "Very well. What you feel for Grumpy might be genuine. I'll even go so far as to say that if decades apart, two Dark curses, and a cloistered life haven't changed your feelings, then it probably is. And I've never heard anyone suggest that dwarves can't know friendship or affection. But I've never heard of one that was capable of True Love. He could be the first," she continued, "but he might also believe that what he feels for you is love, when it's something more on the order of infatuation."

Nova frowned. "Have you ever heard of a dwarf being _infatuated_ with anyone before?" she asked.

"Honestly?" Merryweather shook her head. "I can't say I have. But then, I've never really looked into it. It's never been of interest to me, I suppose."

"Maybe," Nova said slowly, "maybe you're right. Maybe it is just… just friendship or infatuation. I don't know and, from what you're saying, neither does he. But I think maybe we should have the chance to find out."

"Even if the truth isn't what you want it to be? Even if it hurts?"

Nova locked glistening eyes on the older fairy and, despite her efforts to maintain self-control, a bitter laugh crept into her voice. "My _life_ isn't what I want it to be—not now! And knowing that we've been apart for more than thirty years because Blue told Dreamy something to make him believe that turning away from me was giving me my best chance? Do you really think that doesn't hurt at least as much, if not more? Merryweather, please, you have to do something!"

"Well," Merryweather said slowly, "I can see why you're fed up with Blue at the moment and I daresay you've the right to be cross with her. I can't see how it necessarily follows that I ought to pit myself against her in some sort of fight to rule this roost. I'm not doing that. However," she said, "if you can come to me and show me some sort of precedent? Something, anything, that seems to support the idea that there's ever been a dwarf that has felt for another what you claim Grumpy feels for you…" She smiled. "I'll take it up with Blue and try my best to convince her to let you take some time away from the convent to seek out other options. Otherwise… you have the same freedom to leave that you've always had. If you're willing to pay that price."

"But—" Tink started to break in.

Merryweather's gaze hardened. "I'm not prepared to fight Reul for leadership. She gave me this opportunity to fill in for her. I'll not turn a disloyal face to her now and make her regret that choice. Besides, while she and I have had our disagreements, I must say that we two often do see eye to eye on matters. Now if you've specific grievances, you can review them with me and, if you'd like—assuming I think an issue has merit—I'll be happy to bring it up to Reul or counsel you on the arguments I believe you might best put forward to convince her of your cause. But beyond that? If you think the current leadership needs to change, you'd be better off finding another candidate. Clear?"

Tink nodded, but the expression on her face was far from pleased. "Crystal."

"Tink," Nova said hesitantly, "do… do you think that there might be anything in the library that might help me?"

"That would be a good place to start," Merryweather nodded. "But you shouldn't discount _other_ libraries or collections either. And Nova?" Her voice, while still kind, took on a more serious note. "You really ought to show me what you find before you take it to Reul. Nobody likes being proved wrong or made to feel the fool. I'd hate for you to confront her and have that happen to you."

"I understand," Nova nodded. "Tink?"

Tinkerbell nodded back. "Come on. And pay no mind to the books on the tables. I haven't gotten around to putting back everything Emma and Belle were looking through."

She turned to Merryweather. "Thanks for your help."

"I know it's not what you were hoping for."

"No," Tink confirmed. "It's not. But I guess it's better than nothing."

After the two left, Merryweather shook her head grimly. "Be careful, ladies. _Nobody_ likes being proved wrong or made to feel the fool. Reul's no exception."

* * *

The fast food was long eaten, but the conversation kept going. Finally, Ursula yawned. "Well," she said, "I should thank you for dinner, but if I don't get my beauty sleep, I'll start feeding bloodworms to the surgeonfish and spirulina to the sturgeons."

"Huh?" Lily asked blankly.

Ursula sighed. She kept forgetting that fish diets weren't common knowledge among the surface dwellers in her own realm, much less this one. "Surgeonfish are herbivores," she explained. "They eat mostly algae, plankton, and seaweed. Sturgeons, on the other hand, are carnivores."

Lily frowned. "Think we could use them when we find Snow White?" she asked.

"Well, they aren't aggressive," Ursula said, "but they weigh as much as a truck. If one of them collides with you, you'll know it."

"But couldn't you…?"

Ursula sighed again, this time more irritably. "No magic, remember? I can't even communicate with fish anymore, much less command them. And anyway, if your whole plan involves bludgeoning them with marine life—wait. You do have a plan, don't you? I mean, besides 'Find Snow White, get revenge'?"

"I was hoping you'd help me with that," Lily admitted.

Ursula laughed in disbelief. "Kid, if I had the kind of power you need, do you really think I'd be shoveling bait at a third-rate aquarium? Wake up and smell the surströmming. These days, I just keep my head above water. And if I were looking for revenge, my first target would be my landlord."

"But—"

"You're not from around here, right? Got somewhere to stay?"

Lily shook her head.

"Fine. I can let you crash for a couple of nights or so. But after that, unless you can give me a solid reason to team up with you—and that reason had better include a decent plan and some indication you even know where to find that charming royal couple—I think it'll be time for you to swim along, understand?"

Lily looked as though she wanted to argue further, but she lowered her eyes and slumped in her seat. "Fine," she muttered, defeated. "Just… fine."

* * *

The rest of Rumple's evening passed far more pleasantly than he'd originally envisioned. When Marco had first extended the invitation to him, Rumple had been certain that it was a test—and for good reason. Rumple had never had a true friend, but he'd found one in August. Unfortunately, the younger man had a long history of trusting the wrong people and Marco could scarcely have been blamed for thinking that a man of Rumple's reputation might be feigning friendship for his own ends.

Rumple hadn't held Marco's apprehension against him, but he well knew that distrust was a difficult thing to overcome and he had no illusions that the town at large considered him to be trustworthy. Well. He supposed that they trusted him to keep his word and uphold his end of a deal, but they also knew that if there was a loophole to wriggle through, they could trust him to take it. So. The prospect of facing a trial disguised as a dinner invitation and one where the verdict was likely already a foregone conclusion had been bleak indeed in Rumple's eyes.

It had come as a shock when the handyman had called on him at the shop and reassured him that he really did mean it as a friendly overture. Which, for a moment, had had Rumple thinking that it was instead meant to butter him up and coax him into reversing the enchantment placed on Marco's parents all those years ago. That was something that Rumple would have been more than willing to do, had he the resources available to pay the price of such magic. Unfortunately, he hadn't at the time and he didn't now. And yet, Marco had taken that in stride as well, asking only whether he might take the puppets home with him. And Rumple had started to relax, only to tense up again when he realized that he had no idea how he would converse with his host beyond pleasant greetings and inquiries into health.

There were things he might have discussed freely with August had nobody else been present. Both in New York and upon returning to Storybrooke, the two had discovered that they'd experienced similar mishaps in earlier years and it was comforting to both of them to be able to share them with one who could truly understand what the other had been through. But while Rumple and Marco were generally on good terms—a phrase that, in Storybrooke parlance, meant that they didn't despise one another—their relationship had always been professional. If Rumple needed a clock repaired, he knew who to call. Similarly, if Marco needed waterproof sealant, he knew that Rumple kept a good stock of lanolin. But as far as dinner conversation went, Rumple feared he'd be at a loss.

Astoundingly, he hadn't been. They'd gone from comparing pickling and preservation methods to sharing memories of village life, both before and after the wars. While they'd grown up leagues—and centuries—apart, it seemed that the similarities far outweighed the differences. In fact, Rumple realized later on the drive home, if anyone had been frozen out of the conversation, it had been August.

The younger man hadn't minded, though. After dinner, when they'd repaired to the living room—Rumple and Marco still deep in conversation (probably about loom construction by that point)—August had simply spread some newspapers about his feet, gotten out his whittling knife and a piece of wood, and set to work. By the time Rumple took his leave, there were a number of small pegs of uniform shape and size in the wicker box at August's side.

There had been no deals, no verbal battles, no spells cast nor potions brewed. Rumple didn't think that the subject of magic had come up at all, not even in passing. Nothing momentous had been discussed or taken place. And yet, as he made his way home, he found himself wondering whether another invitation might be forthcoming in the not so distant future.

 _Or perhaps…_ His eyes widened for a moment and a hesitant smile bloomed on his face as a new idea struck him. _Perhaps the next invitation might come from_ his _quarter instead…_

* * *

Astrid was a fairy on a mission. While she hadn't been able to turn up much on dwarves in the library, she couldn't say that she was surprised. The library beneath the convent contained much information about Fairy history and culture and nearly as much on magic. While there were some volumes that pertained to other races, including dwarves, the information included dealt primarily with their habits and habitats, their foods and festivals, and their dealings with fairy-kind. She'd uncovered no mention of an ability to love or lack thereof.

"You know," Tink said, "I've had a thought. This whole… idea… that dwarves can't love. It has to have a source somewhere."

Astrid looked at Tink. Then, she gazed slowly but deliberately at the floor-to-ceiling shelves that surrounded them, each one filled to capacity.

"I know, I know," Tink said hastily. "But if it's common knowledge, then it's something we're taught—or something I would have been taught if Blue hadn't taken my wings before I finished my education or the curse hadn't hit before you finished yours. Which means that it must be in recorded in old notebooks and schedulae!"

"S-schedulae?" Astrid repeated, stumbling over the unfamiliar word.

Tink nodded. "Parchment used to be expensive, particularly before we began trading with other races. Much too expensive to give to a novice to scribble notes on. We had to make do with bits and scraps left over from larger pieces."

Astrid frowned. "I see. But… why would I need to go that far back? I mean, if it's something we're all taught, then wouldn't it be the same if I were to look through the notes from a generation ago?"

"Yes," Tink agreed, "except for one thing. There was a time when it _wouldn't_ have been common knowledge—probably somewhere around the point when we first began to treat with the dwarves and worked out the mining agreements. And at that point," Tink leaned in closer as her words tumbled out more quickly, "we'd also have a _source_ for that bit of lore. Whether it's a book or just something like, 'According to the dwarven ambassador Diplomaticky'—and no," she went on as Astrid suppressed a giggle, "I don't know if that was actually his name, but it wouldn't surprise me. Find the original source and see if it actually says what everyone thinks. Maybe it's been taken out of context. Maybe it's a mistranslation. Maybe there's another part that got forgotten along the way. But start there and see what turns up."

Wide-eyed, Astrid nodded. "Where… where do I find those?"

"Records room," Tink said, all business. "It may not look as neat as all this…" She paused and took in the piles of books scattered on the tables, mute evidence of Emma's, Belle's, and now, Astrid's explorations and let out a heavy sigh, "…usually is, but that's just because odd-sized scraps of paper don't fit into neat little piles. It's actually fairly well organized. We first began dealing with the dwarves—"

"—some nine hundred and forty years ago," Astrid finished. When Tink gave her a surprised look, she flushed slightly. "My house's ancestral lands bordered theirs and they often came to trade with us. I remember there was a silversmith we'd see pretty often and if anyone ever so much as questioned the quality of his craft, he'd start bellowing about how in the seven hundred and forty years since the first dwarf-fairy treaty, nobody had ever found fault with dwarf silver." She shrugged. "That was about two hundred years ago."

Tink laughed. "Good. So you've got a rough idea of where to begin the search. So, come along and let's get started." She gestured toward a door of dark wood bolstered by wide metal straps. "The records room is just through here…"

* * *

Blue returned to the convent with a sense of mounting dread. Nova had never shown up for her shift at all and now Blue was worried. The building was still standing and she sensed no evil presence within, but she still took a moment to summon a defensive spell in case someone or something lay waiting within.

As always, the door opened at her touch. All seemed well within. And yet, the fairies that she encountered in the hallway seemed paradoxically both more tense and more relaxed as they passed her. Odd. And still no sign of Nova. She mounted the stairs to the novice's room, hoping that perhaps the young fairy had simply fallen asleep. Or perhaps she'd suffered some mishap in brewing a potion and had grown an extra arm or sprouted a wart on her chin and was hiding from sheer embarrassment. Blue would have understood that. It was still no excuse for failing to perform her duties, but the matter could be handled with some leniency.

Nova's room was empty. Blue sighed heavily and headed back downstairs to talk to Merryweather.

* * *

"I believe she was in the library with Tink, the last I heard," Merryweather remarked. She looked up at the pendulum clock on the wall. "Goodness, that must have been something like five hours ago. Do you mean that she's been down there all this time?"

Blue sniffed. "I'm sure I can't say," she returned evenly, "seeing as this is the first I'm hearing of it. Well. I suppose I'll head down there."

"Now, you won't be too hard on her, Reul, will you?" Merryweather called after her. But if Blue replied, her answer was cut off by the office door closing behind her.

* * *

Blue found her in the records room reading avidly through the contents of a rowan-wood file box. "Nova," she said, displeased. "You missed your shift this evening."

Nova looked up. "Did I?" she murmured, distracted. "I'm so sorry."

The words were right, but the novice's tone didn't match her apology. In fact, it sounded as though her dereliction was of little consequence. "Nova?"

"If you don't mind," the fairy said, "I think I actually prefer 'Astrid'."

Blue blinked. "What's gotten into you? Nova, what are you doing down here?"

Nova's face colored. "I really prefer 'Astrid'," she replied, and while the request was uttered in a perfectly respectful voice, Blue had seldom seen the young novice this assertive. To cover her surprise, she repeated, "What are you doing down here?"

Nova regarded her teacher silently for a moment. Then she took another scrap of parchment from the box. "I met Leroy today. For someone incapable of love, he puts on a pretty good act. I'm trying to find out who it was first said that it was impossible for a dwarf to fall in love and see if maybe there's more to it than we think."

"My word isn't enough," Blue stated, allowing some hurt to creep into her voice.

Nova hesitated. "I think you told me the truth as you know it. But my feelings for Leroy haven't changed and neither have his for me. After all this time, I have to know. And I'll go through every piece of paper here if I have to and ask Leroy to check his peoples' records, too."

Blue took a deep breath. "You won't find the source here. I'm not certain you'll find it anywhere else for that matter."

"What?" Nova half-rose from her chair. "Blue, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that when I told Dreamy what I told him, I was doing so on behalf of his foreman. It's rare that a dwarf dreams of something other than his mine, and rarer still that such dreams persist. But when Bossy realized that Dreamy actually planned to run away with you, he came to me…"

* * *

_At first, she was inclined to scoff at the tale that the dwarf told her, but she'd noticed the change in Nova for herself, even if she hadn't recognized the cause. It wouldn't be the first time that a fairy had chosen to become mortal and, given Nova's inattention to detail and overall distractibility, Blue was rather inclined to allow it. Bossy felt differently._

_"Begging your pardon, Sister, but I believe you've rather more fairies than I do dwarves. I'm thinking that your need for what we mine is at least as great this year as it was last. If I'm a man short, the haul will be short as well. I mean," he coughed and continued apologetically, "my people may love to work, but they have limits."  
_

_Blue frowned. "I can forbid Nova to see him again, but if, as you say, they plan to run off together, then I don't see what effect my edict might have. I'd hardly expect her to heed me then."_

_Bossy shook his head. "Not her. Him. Talk to him. Convince him he's making a mistake. Tell him dwarves can't love and your student will lose her wings and it won't end well."_

_"I…" Really, she knew so little of dwarves. Maybe they_ couldn't _love._ But if they couldn't love, then why was Bossy so convinced that this… Dreamy… would be willing to sacrifice his happiness for Nova's potential? _Love_ was _sacrifice and if he could be expected to give up his dream for her, then how was that not love?_ _But the dust supply was already insufficient to meet their needs. If next year's crop was diminished, then how many more would cry out to the fairies in vain and how many fairies would be helpless to aid those who needed them most? Blue weighed her instincts and the happiness of two idealistic young people against hard reality and pragmatism. "Dwarves are incapable of love," she repeated, making the statement half a question._

_"It's unheard of," Bossy nodded. But that wasn't precisely confirmation. Something must have shown on face, for Bossy added, "Look, Sister, I'll tell him that part. You tell him the rest. He's a good lad. He'll see reason…"_

* * *

Nova's face was chalk white and her ears blood red by the time Blue finished speaking. "So, all this time…" she said faintly.

"I did what I thought was best. For both of you."

"No," Nova said. "You did what you thought was best for _you_."

"Not for me, Nova. For those who rely on us to protect and guide them in their darkest hours."

The novice stood up so abruptly that she knocked the rowan-wood box off the table scattering a small flurry of parchment scraps. "My name is _Astrid!"_ she snapped, but her voice shook as she did. Then, swiping at her eyes, she pushed her way past Blue and took off at a run.

* * *

Ursula's couch wasn't the best bed Lily had ever slept on, but it wasn't the worst either. She awoke shortly after seven to the ding of the microwave and Ursula's footsteps. "Good, you're up," the other woman greeted her. "I hope you've got stuff to do today, because I've got to go to work."

Lily sat up at once. "Yeah, I've got a few places in mind," she said, reaching beside the couch for her knapsack and pulling a clean, if creased shirt out of it. "This is New York, after all. I'll figure something out. Like a plan."

Ursula snorted. "Yeah, you do that. Uh, you want something for breakfast? I've got some microwave oatmeal. Cold cereal… bread."

Lily shook her head. "Nah, I'm not much of a breakfast person. Thanks, though. I'm good. I'll catch up with you later."

"Sure, kid. Just don't think that this arrangement's going to last more than a couple of days. I don't know if you noticed but this apartment isn't that big."

 _It'd be bigger if you ditched those fish tanks,_ Lily thought to herself. _Talk about bringing your work home with you._ Aloud, she said, "I noticed. Don't worry. I won't overstay my welcome."

Ursula poured some milk into her bowl of oatmeal and sat down at the small end table. "I finish at five. You can meet me at work if you want to go for supper."

"Sure."

She dressed quickly, grabbed her coat, and went out.

* * *

She'd noticed a library branch not far from Ursula's building and, once she'd noted the hours, she walked around, familiarizing herself with the area while she waited for it to open. When it did, she went in and signed up to use one of the internet terminals. As she'd hoped, in addition to computers, the library had a scanner. Lily hesitated for the barest instant before she reached into the inner pocket of her coat and pulled out a folded page that had clearly been ripped out of a larger work. She scanned that and, once she'd opened the file on the computer, searched for a similar image online. A moment later, she smiled.

"Cruella Feinberg?" she muttered under her breath. "Really?" She read the article that accompanied the photo and her smile became a smirk. Contrary to what she'd told Ursula, she did have a plan. And it felt as though it was starting to come together rather nicely.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

It was still dark when Belle's alarm went off the next morning. At first, she thought she'd accidentally set it to six PM instead of six AM and somehow slept through the day. Then she remembered that, unlike her home in the Enchanted Forest, winter days were far shorter and sunrises later in Storybrooke. It was morning, all appearances to the contrary. It was morning and she'd deliberately set her alarm for this ungodly hour because her first kickboxing lesson was today and she'd wanted to give herself time for breakfast and coffee.

She washed and dressed quickly and checked the fridge. There was one egg left in the carton; not nearly enough for an omelet. She closed the fridge and started to open the cabinet next it before she remembered she'd finished the last packet of instant oatmeal yesterday. She opened the fridge again, hoping that something would appeal to her, then closed it with a sigh. She really wasn't in the mood for toast or cereal. She would have loved to sit down at Granny's for the breakfast special. But she still couldn't quite bring herself to cross the restaurant's threshold, no matter how many times she told herself that she was just being silly.

She didn't know what would be more embarrassing: seeing Blue there and feeling as though she really ought to apologize, because that was what Good people did—only she still didn't regret what she'd done, hearing hushed whispers about what had happened the last time she'd stepped foot in there when she passed by, or having people come up to _congratulate_ her and tell her that Blue'd had it coming.

Blue _had_ had it coming but, like almost everything else in Belle's life right now, it was more complicated than that. In other words, Blue had deserved that black eye, but as satisfying as slugging the fairy had been, Belle was mostly horrified (though still slightly pleased) that she'd been the one to administer it. Hitting was wrong. Violence was never the answer. Good didn't exact vengeance. Belle knew that. She _lived_ that. So, regardless of the provocation, giving Blue that shiner had been the wrong thing to do. No matter how right it still felt. She didn't want anyone to take her to task for her actions, but she didn't want anyone to applaud them either. She just wanted to forget the whole thing. Well, mostly forget. At least, that was what she told herself. Constantly. Which meant that going back to the place where it had happened was a really bad idea.

Belle sighed. She _really_ wanted a hot breakfast. Well, she had time. And there were other places to eat in this town besides Granny's, even if she couldn't name any other than the Rabbit Hole—which wouldn't be open until lunchtime anyway. She'd just start walking toward the gym and hope she found one.

* * *

There was a diner three doors from the gym that reminded her a bit of the eating area in the movie theater that she and Rumple had gone to in New York: red leather couches, slick laminate tables, and plenty of chrome accents. Belle checked her watch and saw that she had nearly an hour before class, so she sat down at the counter and ordered the special: eggs, sausage, and hash browns.

A loud slurp immediately drew her attention to another figure, who was seated several stools over and draining the dregs of some sort of milkshake. Pink, like the figure's hooded sweatshirt. Belle studied the woman absently. Messy brown hair tumbling out of a bun, an expression on her face that was equal parts nervousness and determination, long tapered fingers, no visible jewelry. Belle realized that there was something familiar about her, though she couldn't say where she'd seen her before.

She went back to studying the chalkboard menu above the counter. They had burgers. Good. It was a bit further from the library than Granny's, but perhaps they'd deliver. And it would be closer to home once she and Rumple were back to living together.

Belle bit her lip. She was still his wife. They were working things out. And they'd agreed to take things slowly, one day at a time. But for short winter days, they seemed so _long_. She was trying not push. Pushing him to do things he wasn't ready or able to do had contributed to the rift between them. Yes, Rumple had lied and kept things from her and done things behind her back, but she realized now that it was partly because he'd never really had anyone who he could let in and trust not to leave him. And after what she'd done to him when she _had_ found out, she couldn't blame Rumple for his caution now. He loved her. That didn't mean he felt he could fully trust her.

She understood. That didn't mean that being kept at arm's length now didn't hurt. But she feared that if she pushed too hard, she might just push him away again and this time, he might not be willing to come back. She wasn't used to living with this kind of fear, though she suspected it was something to which Rumple might be able to relate all too well. One more thing they had in common, she thought ironically. Somehow, she didn't feel like celebrating it.

"C-could I have another one?" a hesitant, slightly-nasal voice asked.

Belle blinked. She knew that voice. "Astrid?" Her face broke into a surprised smile. "I didn't recognize you without your uniform!"

Astrid it was, and she looked as though she'd been here for hours. Didn't the convent have some sort of curfew?

The fairy gave her a wan smile in return. "Hi, Belle."

"Do you come here often?"

Astrid's head-shake was more like a shiver. "It's my first time. After I left the convent, well, the only other places open I could find were pubs and I didn't feel safe going into one of those, so I came here." She winced. "A-and I'm afraid to leave," she added, lowering her voice so that the person behind the counter wouldn't hear. "B-because I don't know if I have the money to pay for these milkshakes, but I was afraid they wouldn't just let me sit here unless I ordered something."

Belle scooted down the row of stools until she was sitting next to her. "I have some," she murmured. "How many milkshakes have you had?"

The server set a plate down before Belle and a strawberry milkshake before Astrid.

"This is my fourth," she admitted. "I'd never had one before, but it was just so good, and I barely ate dinner because I was so busy catching up with Dreamy and then…" She stopped and looked away. "Sorry."

"No, no, don't be," Belle hastened to reassure her. She looked back up at the menu board, mentally multiplied the cost of a milkshake by four and then added in the price of her breakfast. As she'd expected, what she had in her purse would more than cover it. Then she realized what Astrid had just told her. "You left the convent?"

Astrid nodded. "And I'm not going back!"

"Uh… okay," Belle said, wondering if she'd somehow given the fairy the impression that she was about to argue with her.

Astrid clapped a hand over her eyes. "I'm sorry, Belle. I just…" She hesitated briefly. Then she took another breath and, words tumbling out in a rush, continued, "About thirty years ago, Dreamy and I were going to go away together. And then, at the last minute, he backed out. I knew Blue had something to do with it, but it wasn't until last night that I found out what. And now…"

"Now?" Belle prompted, wondering whether she truly wanted to hear more about what Blue had done. She looked at her watch. Why, there was plenty of time before class began. And her curiosity _was_ aroused. "Actually… let me have breakfast. I need to be at the gym for nine." She frowned. "And I need time to change before that. But if you want to come with me and wait for me until my class is over, we could walk back to the library together and you could tell me on the way." She hesitated. "And perhaps we could find a better place for you to stay." Her apartment wasn't large, but she might be able to rearrange a few things to clear enough space for a folding cot. And find someone she knew with a folding cot she could borrow.

Astrid's smile was considerably less wan as she lowered her face toward her milkshake.

* * *

"It went well?" Emma asked when Gold walked into the sheriff station the next morning. "With Marco?"

Gold sighed. "I suppose that one of the drawbacks of not having some imminent threat looming on the horizon would be the opportunity to indulge in small talk."

Emma regarded him for a moment. Then she made a show of reaching for one of the reports on her desk and started to read it.

"It went better than I'd expected," he relented trying to sound annoyed even though he knew she wasn't buying it.

Emma set down the report at once. "I told you!" she said, smiling.

"You did indeed."

But although he was smiling, Emma could tell that there was something else weighing on his mind. After a moment, when no further elaboration was forthcoming, she asked encouragingly, "So…?"

He sat down in the chair before her desk and took a deep breath. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?"

Gold didn't answer immediately. This time, the silence stretched long enough to make Emma wonder whether she should return to her report after all. Maybe her maintaining eye contact was making him feel like she had him under the microscope. But maybe looking away now would send a message that she wasn't interested in what he had to say, or that she had other, more important things to do. And one thing that had come through loud and clear when he'd finally started opening up to her—to all of them—in New York was how often he felt shunted to the sidelines, ignored, or scorned whenever his power or advice wasn't needed. She chewed the inside of her lower lip for a moment longer. "Gold?"

He blinked. Then he took another breath. "When you first came to this town, you were—as you admitted later—something of a drifter. I think we can agree that such is no longer the case."

"Uh… okay," Emma said, wondering where this was going.

More hesitation. Then, "How did you… change?"

"I…" She stopped. "Well, I mean, Henry needed me. And I knew Regina was up to something. A-and Graham asked me to stay on as deputy."

"Yes, yes," Gold waved his hand impatiently. "Those were your reasons for remaining in Storybrooke temporarily. And I'm aware that you did pick up and try to leave that one time. But when you came for me in New York, I don't believe it crossed your mind for a moment to remain behind and send for your son to join you while you picked up your previous life."

"No." Something made her add, "But that would have been a first, too. When I left a place… I _left_. I didn't go back to it."

"Which makes your return to Storybrooke during the second curse all the more extraordinary."

"Well, no," Emma clarified. "Sorry. When I said 'go back', I meant in the sense of settling down." She grinned. "C'mon, I was a bail bondsperson. I'd be lousy at it if I refused to track my quarry inside the city limits of a place I used to live. When Killian came to New York to bring me back home, I really thought it was just to… to break the curse and then we'd go back. I didn't even want Henry remembering."

"I'll ask again," Gold replied, with a good deal more deference in his tone than might have been there on an earlier occasion. "Why did you stay on permanently?"

Emma regarded him for a moment. Her grin changed to a hesitant smile. "I finally found a place I just… missed when I left it." Her answer didn't seem to satisfy him and she frowned. "Why? What did you want me to tell you?"

"I…" He stopped. "Well. Never mind. I was hoping you might have…" He shook his head and got up, reaching for his cane. "I'm sorry to have troubled you. Enjoy your day, Emma."

"What?" She half-rose from behind her desk. "Gold, wait. What did I say?"

Rumple shook his head. "Nothing wrong. Again, my apologies."

"Gold!"

"I've lingered long enough," he said, and though his back was now to her, she could still hear a smile in his voice. "There I things I must attend to in the shop before I open for business and I've kept you from _your_ work long enough. Good day."

She knew a firm goodbye when she heard one and she wished him the same. But as the door closed behind him, she was left wondering what sort of question he'd really wanted to ask and what it was about her answer that had shut him down.

Shaking her head, she reached for the report once more.

* * *

Rumple wasn't used to opening up, not even now, not even with Emma. And he himself wasn't sure what he'd wanted to ask her. But at home last night, after he'd returned from dinner, he'd remembered something he'd said when he'd apologized to Belle all those weeks ago, on her second night in Manhattan.

_I spent every day of our marriage deceiving you, when I should have been trying to make you happy._

He still wasn't doing that. He was being honest with her, which he knew was a good thing. But honesty was painful at times and, while lying to her was worse, he'd be a fool to believe that Belle was happy with the current situation. And she was his wife. He was glad that she was back in his life. He _wanted_ her back in his life. But the pain she'd caused him was still too raw and recent for him to trust her completely.

That didn't mean he couldn't make her happy, though.

He'd been racking his brains to try to come up with some sort of grand gesture. A real one, this time. Not like when he'd given her an ersatz version of his dagger to let her believe that his faith in her ran as deep as he'd wished it did. Something meaningful. Something difficult. And then, he'd thought of something that seemed, at first blush, almost perfect. And at second blush, almost impossible to accomplish.

Almost.

But not entirely.

But he couldn't disregard the strong likelihood of it backfiring on him, albeit not for the same reasons that such endeavors generally did.

He knew, as well as many and better than most, the pain of being estranged from a loved one. He also knew that while he wasn't the only reason that Belle had distanced herself from her father, he—or, at least the mutual antipathy that he and Moe French held for one another—were definitely part of the problem. And, more painfully, while he'd always believed that he had good reason to detest Belle's father, he'd since come to realize that the root cause of his hatred had been a misapprehension: Rumple had believed that after he'd sent Belle from his castle, she'd returned home, only to be imprisoned and mistreated by her father's clerics until she'd thrown herself from her tower to her death. He'd been laboring under that belief when the first Curse had fallen. And once he'd awakened from it, he'd first attacked Moe's livelihood and then, after Regina had talked the duke-turned-florist into robbing him, kidnapped the man and might well have beaten him to death had Emma not intervened.

Small wonder that Moe loathed him now. After everything the man had suffered at his hands, Rumple could even understand why he'd tried to send Belle over the town line. At the time, of course, he'd been furious. Aghast that Moe's hatred for him would drive the man to send his own daughter into exile with no memory of who she was or where she'd come from. But now, he found himself considering the possibility that Moe's primary motivation hadn't been hatred, but fear. Had he been so afraid for his daughter's life and safety that he'd acted, not out of malice, but out of love? His face hardened. Even if his hunch about Moe's motives was correct, it still didn't make it right.

But when Rumple thought about the matter a bit longer and asked himself if he might not have done the same thing for Bae in similar circumstances, well, he didn't have to deliberate long to have his answer. Even if _that_ wouldn't have been right either.

Rumple heaved a heavy sigh. As hard as he'd found it to apologize to Marco, the two situations were scarcely comparable. Marco didn't hate him, for one thing. For another, the harm that Rumple had caused _him_ had been both inadvertent and indirect. And he truly regretted it.

When it came to Moe French, the most that could be said was that Rumple knew he _ought_ to regret the harm he'd caused him. And that he _did_ regret the position it placed Belle in.

And _was_ family as important to Belle as it was to him? Perhaps, if Rumple set about trying to patch things up with her father and somehow succeeded, she'd resent his interference.

_No one decides my fate but me._

Belle was normally cool and rational, but she had her buttons and blind spots, much as he did. And while she controlled hers _rather_ better than he did his, she possessed a temper as well. And even if Belle's buttons and blind spots were few, interfering in familial relationships was still a risky venture.

He remembered how Emma and August had refused to get involved when he and Belle had been at their lowest point and imagined what his reaction might have been had they tried to step in and push the two of them to reconcile instead. It wasn't a pretty picture.

It would have been so much simpler if he could ask Belle. And he might have, if he could have been sure of how she'd react. But he could predict three probable responses, were he to bring up the subject and they were not all worth the risk.

_Don't bother. Right now, I don't want anything to do with him. Should that change, I'll tell you, but for now, leave things alone. But thank you for considering it. And for asking me._ He would have welcomed that one.

_I can't deny that I'd like that, but maybe it's too much too soon. Are you sure you're ready for that if it doesn't go well?_ He had enough doubts about the wisdom of such an action without having anyone else corroborate them, but he still wouldn't have minded such a reply. But then there was the other option.

_Rumple! That would be wonderful! Yes, please! And be sure to tell me how it goes. In fact, I'll go with you! Let's do this together. Right now!_ Just the thought of that reaction had his hands sweating already. He was still toying with the notion. He had no idea whether, when the time came, he'd be able to get the words out right, particularly not with Moe glowering at him while Belle beamed expectantly. And if it didn't go as hoped, then either Belle's rift with her father might deepen, or Belle might blame _him_ for failing. And if he said that he needed more time or that he'd prefer to approach her father on his own, she'd be continually asking him whether he was ready, how much longer he thought he'd need, or…

He shook his head. He couldn't ask Belle. And he didn't think he could ask Emma. Or August for that matter. While each of them surely had some experience with being _disliked_ , he didn't think that either knew what it was to be _loathed_ , nor how to go about changing that circumstance.

If he'd just wanted to vent, it wouldn't have mattered who he spoke to. But, he realized, he was looking for advice.

And he had no idea where he could get some.

Then his eyes widened and a faint smile graced his face for a moment. Then again, perhaps he did…

* * *

"Welcome to the Conjuring Arts Research Center. May I help you?" The attendant at the desk wore her lilac hair in a shaggy pixie bob. A small purple gemstone twinkled in a gold star-shaped setting from a stud in her nose. She wore a smartly-tailored blue herringbone blazer over a white ribbed turtleneck. A blue cameo brooch in a gold filigree setting adorned one lapel.

Lily smiled. "I made a research appointment three weeks ago. I'm Starla Hogyndraig."

"Hogyndraig," the young woman's lips curved in a welcoming smile. "Yes, I have the material that you requested here." She reached down and set two volumes down on the desk. "I'll need to see your ID," she murmured.

"Yeah, I know." That was why she'd made the appointment under her current name. As far as most of the world was concerned, Lilith Page had died in a car accident several years earlier. She pulled out her wallet.

The woman glanced at the drivers' license and nodded. "Thank you. Okay, if you have a laptop, feel free to use it. Pencils are the only writing instrument allowed. You have a maximum of two hours."

"Got it," Lily said, as the woman stood up. She was wearing a pencil skirt of the same fabric as the blazer.

"If you'll follow me," the woman said, "I'll show you where you can look at these. I'm Carey, by the way. Carey Norton."

"Thanks," Lily started to say, but Carey was already walking and Lily had to trot to keep up.

"By the way," Carey continued, "about your surname. Did you know it means 'dragon daughter'?"

Well, that _was_ why she'd picked it. But admitting to that was only going to prompt a conversation she had no interest in having. The old man on the bus had been very clear. She would never be able to locate—much less enter—the town where her birth mother currently resided if she wasn't able to obtain the spells (one spell really, but split between two apparently unconnected tomes for security's sake) secreted within the pages of the volumes she'd requested. So now, the plan was to get the spell, go back to Ursula with it, pick up Cruella, and head for the town where Emma, Snow White, Prince Charming, and Maleficent awaited. And then…

The fun could begin.


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Info on kickboxing taken in large part from "I tried it: kickboxing", an article found on the cookinglight website. Yala National Park, Sri Lanka has a park-wide ban on cell phone usage. While I'm not ignoring the events of _Beyond Witch Mountain_ , I'm taking the tack that, as with Henry's book, we don't necessarily know that story as well as we think…

**Chapter Five**

"Well," Regina said finally, "I believe I understand why you sought me out. Some tea?" She paused. "Or something stronger? You look like you might need it."

Rumple was about to accept, but then he remembered that without his magic, teleporting wasn't going to be possible and he wasn't about to risk slipping on an icy patch were he to walk the three city blocks between the town hall and his shop. "It had better be tea," he demurred regretfully. "I drove." And without his magic, he had no idea of his alcohol tolerance levels; he'd always cast a healing spell to counter the effects of strong drink in the past.

Regina nodded. Then she got up and went to the hot water urn on the sideboard and poured out two cups. "Lemon balm?"

Rumple smiled faintly. There were a number of naturally calming teas easily available. Lemon balm was one of the few that wasn't also a sleep aid. "Please."

From the fragrance emanating from Regina's cup when she set it down on her desk, she'd selected jasmine for her own. She sipped briefly from the cup and set it down. "I have to admit I've never been big on regret myself," she said finally. "And apologies don't always come easily. But at times they're needed."

"And you think that this is one of those times."

"I can't answer that," Regina replied. "You're right. It might clear the air. It might make things worse. Sometimes you have to address past wrongs. Sometimes those wounds heal just fine on their own and the wisest course of action is just to move on. But figuring out what's called for in each situation…" Her voice trailed off.

"I will say," she continued, smiling, "that if Belle takes after her father, an apology might go rather well, if you let him rail at you initially."

Rumple blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"When Zelena had your dagger, I came by the shop to see whether Belle had any idea what she might be planning. And your wife—admittedly with considerable justification—took me to task for what I did to her before, during, and after the first curse. I apologized then. I… also reminded her that keeping a grudge and refusing to help me might not be in the town's best interest or yours, for that matter. And, while I can't say for certain that she decided to let bygones be bygones, she did at least see my point enough to share her findings with me. Since then, well, I'm not sure if relations between us have improved, but at least they haven't regressed. I suppose we've both tacitly agreed to ignore the history between us and start fresh."

"Yes," Rumple nodded, "but you're forgetting that when it comes to something you've needed from me, be it advice, a charm to protect your son from the dream realm, or your mother's spell book, it's scarcely mattered whether we've been working together or at cross purposes _or_ whether I'd summoned a wraith to dispatch you not five days prior. I've never needed to forgive you in order to do business with you. Belle's feelings may be the same."

Regina thought about that. "What about her father?"

"Unknown."

Regina considered. "There's something to be said for clearing the air, you know. I think it might be helpful to decide if your sole reason for burying the hatchet is to do something considerate for Belle, or if you're also looking to make amends because you're trying to…" She frowned, thinking.

"Regina?"

She took a breath. "You know, I'm sure, that when I was trying to stop relying on magic for Henry's sake, I was seeing Archie. He had me treating my dependency as an addiction and we were trying to treat it as one might more… conventional addictions. Are you familiar with twelve-step programs?"

Rumple's eyebrows shot up. "I assume you're referring to the step that speaks of making a list of those we've harmed and being willing to make amends to all of them." His lips curled derisively. "You realize, of course, that I'm no longer immortal. I doubt I'll live long enough to accomplish that one."

"It's about being willing, not necessarily able." Regina shook her head. "If it weren't, I'd be in the same situation you are. And making that list? Isn't Step One. I think it's eight or maybe nine. But just because you can't reach out to everyone doesn't mean you shouldn't bother reaching out to anyone." She took another breath. "If this is about trying to do something… nice for Belle, then if I were you, I'd make sure that it's something she actually wants before you tackle it. But if it's also about trying to clear the air between you and Moe, well, seeing as my actions ignited and fed that particular conflagration… You're not the only one who owes him an apology. If it'll help make that task less onerous," she smiled, "I'll come with you."

* * *

Belle made it back to the library, Astrid on her heels, and into the apartment at the back before she sank into a chair.

"It kind of looked like… fun," the fairy said weakly. "If you like that kind of thing, I mean."

Belle closed her eyes and leaned back with a groan. "It was many things," she murmured. "Fun was not one of them."

The lesson had begun with skipping ropes, of all things. Belle hadn't jumped rope since she was about eight or nine, but she'd quickly fallen into the familiar rhythm and, as everyone in the class was doing it, she'd felt a good deal less foolish about it than she might have thought she would, had she known what to expect. On the whole, she'd thought that it was going rather well.

They'd moved on to simple punches and kicks against imaginary foes. Again, it had been fairly easy. She'd been feeling rather pleased with herself. Then the instructor picked up the pace.

"Come on, ladies! Punch. Punch. Now hook, uppercut, uppercut, knee lift, front kick, side kick. Repeat! Punch. Punch. Uppercut. Uppercut…"

Belle's pace began to slack off. She was falling behind. She wasn't sure where she was supposed to breathe in all of this. Was it punch left, then right? Or right, then left? Did it matter? Had the instructor said?"

"Punch! Left hook, right hook, side kick, punch!"

Some of the other women were also faltering, but Belle thought that they were still doing better than she was.

"Kick higher, ladies! Not so choppy! Let the moves flow seamlessly. Uppercut, uppercut, knee lift, front kick, punch, punch… Come on!"

Belle wasn't used to feeling so… inept but she stuck with it, first gamely, then grimly. Finally they moved on to squats and sit-ups. Belle was out of practice with those, but at least she knew what she was about. Her old fencing master had sworn by those exercises—swordplay involved lunging from a squat toward an adversary and sit-ups helped to build up core body strength.

"All right, ladies," the instructor said finally. "By next class, I expect you to have completed one hundred squats and one hundred sit-ups. Now, hit the showers. And when you get home, jump into an ice bath. It'll help with the soreness. You can use a heating pad in a few hours. See you Wednesday, bright and early."

Belle didn't want to move anymore right now, not even to take that ice bath, never mind the conditioning exercises. Wednesday would come all too soon, but today was only Monday and the idea of sitting here in this extremely comfortable armchair for another forty-six hours or so was rather appealing.

"Uh… Belle?" Astrid ventured hesitantly. "I was sort of up all night and it's catching up with me. Do you have someplace I can take a nap?"

Belle groaned and reached for her cell phone. "Just stretch out on my bed for now," she invited, as she tried to think who among her contacts she could ask for that folding cot.

* * *

Coating the cuff with cornmeal paste wasn't the best idea Zelena could have come up with, she realized in hindsight. Billina was happy enough pecking at the dried food, but lacked either the beak strength or the inclination to tug on the leather shackle itself.

It was so frustrating! Zelena had the feeling that she could likely rip the thing in two with her bare hands if it weren't on her forearm. But the thing was spelled so that the wearer couldn't remove it. She'd tried cutting it; the glamor charm she'd worn about her neck was sealed in glass. Nobody had bothered searching her when they'd confined her here and the glass had broken easily enough. The shards, however, hadn't so much as scratched the cuff. It appeared to be on to stay.

Angrily, she tugged at it once more, but although the leather stretched somewhat in response to her fingertips, it wasn't enough for her to slide it off. The fact that there was some give gave her an idea, though.

The hospital had thoughtfully provided a pile of straw for Billina to nest on. Zelena plucked three long strands of it now, barely hearing the chicken's squawk of annoyance.

If she had still controlled Rumple, she fumed, she wouldn't have this problem. One command and he'd have this thing off of her in no time. And if her dear sister had somehow anticipated such a thing and added to the enchantments already surrounding the cuff to protect it from his interference, perhaps a piece of gold wire might be just what was required to pry it off. Well. Rumple was beyond her control and she had no wire. But perhaps straw alone might suffice. One piece was weak and easily broken. But braided, it might just be strong enough.

It was a longshot, but Zelena knew that she never would have been able to create a working time-travel spell had she listened to the allegedly-wiser voices telling her that what she was attempting was impossible. And if she could unravel time…

…A leather cuff shouldn't be much trouble at all.

There was a way to break free of it. And with time and patience, she would find it.

She twisted the ends of the three straws together and drew them into a knot. Then, with hope in her heart, she began the braid.

* * *

Lily finished copying over the information she needed within the allotted two hours. She wasn't entirely certain that she had the symbols correct, but she hoped that it would make sense to someone who could read magic. And that she could find such a person. If Ursula's sobriquet was deserved, then Lily imagined she had little to worry about. Presumably witches could read magic, so if the woman she'd met yesterday was truly the 'sea witch', then she ought to be able to translate the script. If she couldn't, then hopefully, Cruella would.

Truth be told, Lily wasn't very worried. So far, the old man's instructions had been spot on. She had to believe that he wouldn't have told her where to obtain the spell she'd need to find her mother and those who had wronged her, if he hadn't also arranged to have her meet up with someone who could actually use it.

She checked the time. Ursula wouldn't be finished work for at least another four hours. She could use that time to find out Cruella's address. The image search she'd done earlier had led to an article in the _Great Neck News_ about the Feinbergs' recent purchase of several lots of silverblue, blue iris, and sapphire mink furs and speculation about what they planned to do with them. That article had been six months old. Lily would have delved further, but she hadn't wanted to miss her appointment slot at the Conjuring Arts Center and, it being her first time in New York, she'd decided to give herself plenty of time to get lost and find her way to her destination on time. Now that she had the spell, she could set about tracking down Cruella. Another trip to the library was in order.

Lily hoped that Cruella was in town. Great Neck, Long Island was only about 25 miles away. If she was vacationing somewhere, it would complicate matters. "I got this far," she told herself. "Even if it took me more than fifteen years to get started. And despite that, everything's been working out for me for the first time in… well, in forever. So, here's to hoping."

Less than an hour later, her jaw dropped. She reread the article. This time, a muffled curse escaped her. "Jack Feinberg arrested for investment fraud…"

According to what she was reading, just over a month ago, Cruella Feinberg, nee De Vil, had been turned out of her luxurious mansion with little more than her car and the clothes on her back—which had included some rather costly fur—when her husband had been taken into custody by the FBI. All assets had been seized.

"No… no… no," she whispered, scrolling down the search page. There had to be something more recent than that. People didn't just vanish without a trace. Some way, somehow, she had to find Cruella. She just had no clue where to start.

* * *

"You're sure you want to go through with this?" Regina asked. They were taking her car; his own was still parked in front of her door.

"Are you suggesting I shouldn't?" Rumple asked.

"No." Regina fastened her seatbelt with an audible click. "Just… recognizing that this won't be easy."

Rumple sighed. "Very little in my recent experience has been. While I can't say I'm looking forward to what's to come, I'm finding that if I think of it as something I owe, the prospect becomes a bit more palatable. I do honor my debts."

"Maybe that's why it's not working for me," Regina said so softly that Rumple almost missed it over the sound of the car starting.

"Pardon?"

Regina backed carefully out of the driveway and waited until they were on the road before she replied. "When I've apologized before, both to Belle and to Marco, there were two elements in play. First," she smiled reluctantly, "I needed something from them. Second, they called me out for what I'd done to them in the past. That's… not the case now."

"Ah. And Snow?"

Regina smiled a bit at that. "She apologized first. And we'd been working together since Neverland. And… thinking back, I don't believe that I ever apologized for plotting to kill her." She turned onto Main Street. "There was never a moment when I said 'I'm sorry' and she said 'I forgive you'…"

_"We can never know our past completely," she'd said after Snow had discovered what her mother, Queen Eva, had done to Cora. And then, something had made her add hesitantly, |If we had, I probably wouldn't have spent so much time trying to kill you."_

_It wasn't an explicit apology, but it was an olive branch and Snow leaped for it._

_"Well, we would've found something to fight about," she'd returned. "I mean I was such a brat."_

_A year ago, Regina's rejoinder would have been tinged with bitterness, her comment more a sneer. Now, she chuckled and agreed good-humoredly. "Your mother's child."_

_Snow laughed back. "I think we've wasted our last day being haunted by the past…|_

"I suppose," Regina said, "we've just… moved on."

Rumple nodded. "Somehow, I don't believe that's going to happen now."

Regina took one eye off the road for a moment to look at him. Then she pulled over and parked.

"What are you doing?" Rumple demanded sharply.

Regina locked her eyes on his. "If you're going to do this, you're going in there with a fighting chance to do it right. We both are. We're going to stay here for as long as necessary and rehearse what we're going to say and how Moe's likely to respond. And then… we're going to try to come up with some way in which you can walk out of there without beating him to death with your cane and _I_ can walk out of there without turning him to a cockroach." When Rumple's eyebrows shot up, she shrugged. "Apologies still don't come easy for me. I don't honestly know how I'll react the first time one of mine isn't accepted. Backsliding might just be more of a danger for me than it is for you at the moment." She broke eye contact and sank back into her seat. "We shall see."

Rumple regarded her searchingly for a moment. Then, in a tone that was almost nonchalant, he asked, "How did you wish to proceed?"

Regina hesitated. Then she closed her eyes and concentrated. "I guess a glamor spell is a good way to start," she said as her features took on Moe French's appearance and her voice deepened and took on his cadences. "All right, Rumple. What do you want to say? Or rather…" She took a breath. "Let me try to get into character." At that, illusory Moe's face screwed into a vicious scowl. "Gold. What the hell do you want here? Get out!"

Rumple smiled broadly. Then the smile fell away and he raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Please," he began, "I-I'd just like a-a moment of your time…"

"Lose the stutter," Regina said, and there was something bizarre about hearing her speech patterns in Moe's voice. Evidently, it sounded strange to her as well, for she—as Moe—blinked and cocked her head to one side, nonplussed. But only for a moment, before she continued, "Non-threatening doesn't have to mean weak."

Rumple nodded at that. He took another breath. "I've… Well, I've come to apologize."

"Better," Regina-as-Moe nodded. Then the scowl returned. "Bit late for that, don't you think?"

"I…" For a moment, his mind drew a blank. Then he slowly shook his head. "I'm hoping that it won't be. Though I daresay I can't fault you for believing so…"

* * *

Ursula clearly didn't care to stick around for long once her shift was done. She was out of the aquarium at three minutes past five. She spotted Lily sitting in a bus shelter across the street and waited for the light to change before crossing over to meet her. "Hey," she said.

Lily looked up. "Mind if we go somewhere we might have to show ID tonight? I'll pay."

Ursula shook her head. "No plan?"

"I had one," Lily replied, getting to her feet. "It was actually going well. I should've remembered." She exhaled noisily. "Nothing ever works out for me in the end."

"Yeah?" Ursula gave her a light slap on the shoulder.

Lily flinched and half-whirled, hands already locking into fists. Then she lowered them and looked away, embarrassed.

"Sorry," she muttered. "Probably not a good idea to do that without warning me first." She wasn't about to get into why. Ursula was already feeling sorry enough for her without bringing up the abusive boyfriend. He was out of her life now, anyway. She wondered whether he'd discovered that his ATM card was missing yet. She'd managed to get $500 out of the account for two days straight, then decided to stop pushing her luck and toss the thing. He probably hadn't had much more than the thousand anyway.

Ursula held up her own hands, palms wide, eyes slightly less-so. "I was just going to invite you to join the club, kiddo. Some of us… well, let's just say the deck's stacked against us." She extended her hand slowly this time, making sure that Lily was watching when she patted the younger woman's forearm. "C'mon. I know a place. Won't even cost you that much."

* * *

"Rumple?"

"I'm fine," he snapped testily, getting back into the car.

"Okay, okay," Regina said, holding up her hands again in the same placating gesture she'd used just moments earlier in the flower shop. She didn't start the engine, though. "That man is infuriating."

Rumple took a breath and Regina braced for a verbal blow. He'd managed to keep his temper under control during the confrontation, but she suspected that it was even now struggling to break free. Empathy and support weren't always Regina's strongest suits, particularly where Rumple was concerned. Usually she could snark him out of a funk, but instinct—coupled with some of the things she'd learned from Emma and August—warned her that something else might be called for this time.

And then, Rumple exhaled and, without looking at her, said dully, "Given the history I have with him, I suppose I can understand why. Not that you fared much better."

He was being diplomatic. Moe had seemed to reserve all of his wrath and venom for Rumple, only sparing some for her when she'd reminded him of her own part in the troubles that had been visited on him and Belle.

"Still," she murmured, "as much as Snow's fond of saying that heroes do what's right, not what's easy, reactions like his make things harder than they ought to be." She shook her head. "It wasn't wrong to try."

"It feels like it was," he retorted. "Sometimes it's wisest to let sleeping dogs lie."

"Sometimes," Regina nodded. "My earlier offer of cider is still open if you want it."

For a moment, he seemed to consider it. Then he shook his head reluctantly. "My reason for refusing it then hasn't changed. Besides, I keep a bottle or two of spirits at the shop, though I seldom indulge."

"All right."

She regarded him for a moment, wondering whether he had anything else to add. When he remained silent, she reached to turn the key in the ignition.

"Perhaps you'd be willing to join me." His offer came out at a rush, and when Regina turned back to face him, his eyes were wide and, judging by the nervous incredulous expression on his face, he couldn't quite believe he'd made it. Understandable. After what he'd just been through with Moe, risking another rejection on its heels couldn't exactly be easy for him. Moreover, thinking back, Regina couldn't recall another time when he'd ever offered such an invitation to her. The closest he'd come had been when he'd been arrested after assaulting Moe and she'd come by the sheriff station to confirm her suspicions that he was awake. This was something altogether different from the sarcastic, 'Please sit,' he'd extended on that occasion. Well. Thankfully, her schedule for the rest of the day was mostly clear. Apart from…

"All right," she said again, smiling this time. "Let's go back to my place so you can get your car, and before we head off, I'll make sure that either Emma or one of her parents can pick Henry up. He stayed late today."

Rumple made a noncommittal sound. "Nothing untoward, I trust?"

Regina laughed. "Not detention, if that's what you're hinting, no. He just decided to take on an extracurricular, this year. He's trying out for the school play."

* * *

"Good evening, Conjuring Arts Center. How may I—oh! Mr. Castaway. I'm sorry to have bothered you on your vacation." _Really sorry_ , she thought. Mr. Castaway was a good boss and in the five years that Carey had worked for him, this was the first time she could ever remember his having taken more time off than the occasional long weekend. He'd finally decided to take a month and visit his wife's family in Sri Lanka.

The voice on the other end of the phone chuckled warmly. "Not to worry, Carey. I thought I had everything covered. The one thing I didn't check was whether cell phones were allowed inside Yala National Park. I know Dayani and I wanted to go somewhere remote and get away from it all, but maybe we could've picked someplace less remote in hindsight. Well, we're back in the US, now. Visiting my sister and her kids in Stony Creek. I'm only just checking my messages now and I see you left one almost right after I left."

Carey smiled. "Give Tia my best," she returned. "And… I don't know. You told me to advise you if anyone requisitioned a couple of the Merlin works?"

There was a pause. "Which titles?" he asked, and Carey didn't miss the faint apprehension in his voice now. She double-checked the application and read them off dutifully.

"And what name?"

She gave him that, too. "She was just in yesterday. I hadn't heard from you, so I let her read them. I kept an eye on her and nothing seemed especially off. She did seem to know exactly what she was looking for, though."

"Uh-huh." Her boss's voice was suddenly vague, as though he really wasn't paying much attention to her anymore. "Okay," he said finally. "It doesn't sound like there was any harm done. I'll be back on Monday. And Carey? You'll let me know if she comes back?"

"Yes, of course."

"Great. I'll see you Monday, then. But you should be able to get in touch with me now if you need to. Bye for now."

* * *

Tony Castaway ended the call with a sick look on his face. He registered the faint step behind him, but didn't turn around until his sister asked, "Trouble?"

He sighed. "Maybe. I don't know. The name was wrong; it could just be another King Arthur groupie trying to find Camelot. But it could be…" The look in his eyes was both nervous and resolute. "I think it's time to get in touch with Uncle Bené."

* * *

"So, that's the story," Lily said, taking a sip of her beer. "They're in a magically-protected town and I've just gotten a lead on the way inside. Only, without Cruella…"

"Is she really that important to all of this?" Ursula asked dubiously. "Or are you just trying to collect everyone who crossed over with you?"

Lily hesitated. "If you and I go alone, it's just two of us against the whole town. Unless my mom took over, but from what the old man told me and what's in my book, I don't think she did. If Cruella comes, that makes three. And, I mean, if you're the sea witch, I guess you're strongest in the water, but on land? I think having someone with us who can control animals could come in handy. If nothing else, I know that if Snow White can talk to birds, she can get them to spy on us. I'd like to be able to do the same."

Ursula's eyebrows climbed. "It seems you _are_ thinking this through," she said. "Not just blindly following a map and an old book. You may not have a whole plan, yet, but…"

"Without Cruella, I don't know if I've got a plan at all," Lily said, taking another morose sip.

"Well," Ursula said, raising her sea breeze (which had nothing to do with the sea whatsoever, but appearances needed to be kept up and she was rather partial to both cranberry and grapefruit juices) and taking a sip of her own, "I might be able to help with that. Not that we've had anything to do with one another in over twenty years, mind you, but if she's still anything like the woman I knew," she smiled, "I think I have a pretty good idea of where to find her…"


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: References to Witch Mountain and A Spaceman in King Arthur's Court/Unidentified Flying Oddball (Disney, 1979). Fans of the latter will note that Hermes is an android duplicate of "oddball" Tom Trimble. However, the inhabitants of a magical realm would likely come to a more reasonable assumption upon meeting two men who appeared identical in every way. Also, much like the OUAT characters' backstories aren't entirely consonant with their classic fairytale versions, some tweaks have been made to the other Disney properties as well.

**Chapter Six**

 

_Camelot, many years ago…_

The Apprentice had rarely questioned his master before, but this time he had to. "It could be the answer we've been seeking!" he protested. "You can't condemn an entire land to die!"

Merlin turned away angrily. "Do you imagine that I want to?" he demanded. "Don't you think I've considered the possibilities?"

"Then…?"

Merlin didn't turn around. "Every time I try to make things better, I make them worse. I wanted to find happiness with my True Love and was ready to sacrifice my immortality to do it. Instead, I released pain and sorrow upon this entire realm. I tried to mitigate the danger, tethering Ni—" his voice hardened. "Tethering the _Dark One_ to a dagger to prevent her power from running unchecked. She knew me too well."

The Apprentice felt a pang at the bitterness in his master's voice. Nimuë had guessed where the dagger might be hidden and she'd known the key to unlocking the protections that surrounded it. She'd been clever, careful not to overstep the strictures Merlin had imposed upon her when he'd had the blade in his possession. The first he knew that it was missing was when rumors reached him of a _new_ Dark One, more ruthless and terrible than the previous.

"And now, this… Malagant threatens to flood the Pebble Islands if Uther won't swear fealty to him and Uther refuses." The wizard shook his head. "He believes that if he gives in now, he will be forced to give in again in the future. He's probably right. But there are twenty thousand lives at stake and I can't save them all."

"But this newcomer… You saw as I did. His vessel can travel the distance in no time. And if we can fashion more like it, then perhaps we can use it to evacuate the islands!" It was actually their best chance. When Uther had sent a flotilla of boats to the rescue, the Dark One had sent a raging squall to meet them. As far as could be determined, not one sailor in that fleet had survived.

Merlin shook his head. "At what price? And don't tell me it doesn't matter; that sort of talk has a way of coming back to haunt a person. Besides, from what I've seen of this new Dark One, once he claims someone as his prey, he'll hunt the realm over to find them and destroy anyone who gets in his path." His expression was stricken. "I don't want to condemn them to death, but I can't see any way to save them. Not when Malagant steals hearts, then clothes his thralls in armor, and sets them against me. Not when I have to fight innocents to get to him and those innocents have orders to kill non-combatants if I try to engage them. This conflict is going to keep escalating until it engulfs the realm."

"So, you're just going to do nothing." The Apprentice hadn't fully believed it until this moment, but he realized that his teacher and master was truly not going to involve himself. Twenty thousand people would die as a result of his inaction. He took a breath. "I've already spoken with Trimble. He's shown me the drawings… the plans—schematics, he called them—for his vessel. He and his brother have already begun adapting our technology to theirs and building more."

For a moment, Merlin seemed to consider the possibilities. Then his face fell once more. "We know too little about their technology. They come from another land, one with no magic—for all that a craft that travels through time and space would seem to demonstrate otherwise. If he's looking to _add_ magic, the results would be… unpredictable."

"But it might work."

"Or make things worse."

The Apprentice hesitated. "Suppose I were to go with them? I-I know my power isn't close to yours, but I think I understand something of what they're trying to accomplish. At least enough that between myself and the Trimbles, we would likely be able to correct errors, should anything go wrong."

Merlin frowned. "You'd be making quite the sacrifice, Bené. If you leave this realm..." He frowned. "When first I took you in, I had a vision that one day, you would be called upon to fill a grand purpose, one that would weigh heavily upon you down through the years. I said nothing to you at the time; there didn't seem to be much point and I knew you would want details you weren't ready for."

"Then."

"Then," Merlin nodded. "Until you had a means of crossing the boundaries, not merely between realms, but between space and time as well, discussion was pointless. And the duty that will befall you, unlike custodianship of the hat which I know I have forced upon you, this new duty must be freely and unreservedly accepted."

Bené waited. "Master? What is this new duty?"

Merlin seemed to be lost in thought. "You are familiar with the concept of Authors…?"

The Apprentices eyes grew wide. "Surely. But what has that to do with…"

"Travel between lands with magic and lands without is difficult. An Author must manage it. And so must the one who appoints an Author to their task." He paused for a beat. "My visions told me, Bené, that you would be that individual."

"M-me?" Bené stammered.

"I'd thought that there would be more time before the burden would fall to you. And, at any rate, until the means to travel presented itself, I didn't consider the matter overly pressing. But the ship is here. And if it is in your heart to travel to this new realm—the realm that no longer possesses its own magic and yet possesses the dreamers and imaginers that can conceive the possibility of it and even, occasionally, to touch it—then…" He took a breath. "Come. There is much that you must learn in the days that remain to you here. If you truly intend to accompany these people," his smile, while forced, was still warmer than any Bené had seen on his master's face in weeks, "then it falls to me to do what I must to prepare you for the years ahead."

"Shall I never see you again?" the Apprentice asked, sounding for a moment like the boy he'd been when first he'd entered Merlin's service.

"Perhaps not in person," the wizard replied. "But there are other methods. Which you will commence to learn forthwith." He frowned. "There really isn't going to be enough time. Unless…"

"Unless?"

Merlin smiled. "It's time for you to learn Portal Magic, my boy. Observe and attend." Before the young man's eyes a disembodied door appeared. Bené blinked.

"How…? Forgive me, master. I did not see the process. Only the result."

Merlin's smile didn't ebb. "It is through making use of the result that you will have the leisure to master the process. Go ahead, Bené. Open the door and walk through."

Wondering, the Apprentice did so, his master close behind. And then they stood in a sun-drenched meadow, high stone bluffs before them and greenery all about.

"Welcome to the Edge of Realms, Bené. The one place in the universe where I can teach you everything you must know before you travel on from me and still be back in time to join the refugees…"

* * *

_Now_

Henry wondered what the heck he was doing here. He'd been lamenting to Emma that he missed his friends in New York and, now that there was a curse on the town line, he couldn't even visit them. Yes, the scroll would have allowed him to leave and return and there had been a lot of crossing back and forth recently, but there was a difference between leaving town to save lives and leaving town because you wanted a vacation. Nobody _really_ died of boredom.

Emma had understood, but then she'd reminded him that he'd made friends in New York by joining clubs and after-school activities. There was no reason he couldn't do the same here.

The thing was, Henry had been griping because he'd wanted sympathy. He hadn't expected his mom to suggest he actually do something about it. He'd forced himself to smile and resolved to talk to his other mother. And, once he did, he realized that Emma must have already called her.

"Getting more involved in school activities is a good thing," Regina had maintained. "I know it was harder for you when, apart from myself and Jefferson, you were the only person in Storybrooke aware that time was frozen. But things are different now. And you've read that book so many times by now that I'm sure if it was somehow lost, you'd be able to rewrite it from memory. I'm not suggesting you abandon it, but it's healthy for you to cultivate new interests." And then, she'd opened her purse and pulled out a folded flyer that Henry hadn't thought she knew about. Jeez, was Grandma in on this, too?

"In fact," Regina went on, "your grandmother and I met for coffee earlier this week and she mentioned that Storybrooke Middle School is going to be putting on Thornton Wilder's _The Matchmaker_ this term and auditions are next week." She smiled wryly. "It appears that despite the situation with the town line, it was still possible to obtain the necessary permissions from the copyright holder. At any rate, I think you should go."

Yep. Grandma was involved. Which meant that his odds of escaping this horrifying turn of events had just plummeted from slim to none. Still, Henry tried to make her see reason. He wasn't an actor.

"They need backstage crew as well."

He had no experience.

"Somehow, I doubt that any of your classmates are applying late of appearing on Broadway."

He had homework.

"Yes. You're in school. And I would imagine that everyone else involved in the production is going to be in a similar situation. I think that the teachers generally lighten the workload as the performance draws near. In any case, that might give you the perfect reason to form a study group, which would—"

"—help me make some new friends," Henry finished, defeated. "Fine. I'll go to the auditions. Happy?"

"Satisfied," Regina had corrected. "I'll be happy when you've found something to do besides traipsing through the house morosely moaning over how bored you are. Besides," she added, "thinking back now, you did manage to pull off a number of inspiring acting performances in order to see Emma behind my back when she first came to Storybrooke. I think such talent ought to be honed, don't you?"

He knew a rhetorical question when he heard it. "Fine!" he repeated, whirling about and stomping upstairs.

That had been last week. And now, here he was, sitting in the school auditorium, waiting apprehensively for his turn to read a monolog.

"Hey." He looked up to see Nicholas Zimmer leaning toward him.

"Hey."

"So… what part are you hoping for?"

Henry shrugged. "I don't know. I guess whichever one they think I'm good for. You?"

"Horace Vandergelder," Nicholas said. "Or maybe Cornelius Hackl. But I won't get either. I mean, I couldn't act like Ava and I had parents when our staying together depended on it. How'm I supposed to pretend to be someone I'm not?"

Henry blinked. "You mean… because you couldn't fool my mom's superpower, you don't think you can act?"

Nicholas shrugged. "I guess."

Henry hesitated. Then he reached into his backpack and pulled out a hardcover copy of the play that he'd checked out of the public library that morning. "I was reading it on my lunchbreak and… well, maybe if I get Barnaby Tucker, it'll be okay. And since Barnaby and Cornelius have a lot of scenes together, you want to practice a little before they call us?"

Nicholas broke into a smile. "Sure!"

* * *

There was no way to be sure how long Bené and Merlin spent at the Edge of Realms. Time didn't pass there as it did outside of it. By the time the two returned to Camelot, Bené's hair and beard were long, wild, and mostly gray. And yet, when they stepped back through the portal into Merlin's study—Merlin looking virtually identical to the way he had upon setting out—barely a moment had passed. If that.

"We needed to ensure that you'd learn everything I could teach you," Merlin said.

"But I'll be able to contact you, if I have reason to," Bené protested. "You taught me those spells ages ago."

Merlin was silent for some time. Finally, he said, "My visions tell me otherwise. Not always in ways that are easily understood of course. Certainly not clearly enough to see every twist and turn on the map that Fate will draw. But I do know that there will come a time when those spells you place such faith in will fail you. You are my apprentice, Bené. That has not changed and never will. But at some point, you will need to set up shop for yourself with the tools I've provided you. When that day comes, I must know that you'll be ready."

"How long?"

Merlin shook his head. "Not for a while, but sooner than you think." He smiled. "But no more on this. Come. The people of the Pebble Islands need your help. You know how to create the many from out of the one?"

Bené nodded. It had been one of the first spells he'd learned independently. "Yes, Master." It would not take years or even months to replicate Trimble's ship. Once he understood its mechanics—and he'd been more than halfway there before their journey—he would be able to create multiple copies in moments. There were still logistics to be worked out: which families to be assigned where, how much food and equipment to bring with them, what—if any—personal effects might be brought aboard, but once the ships were built, the greatest hurdle would be passed. And unlike the broom he'd enchanted that first time, the magic used in the building of these ships would not escape his control. He'd practiced too long for that. Thankfully. Because if anything were to go awry this time, the consequences would prove to be rather more serious than a flooded spell workshop…

* * *

The tryouts were going badly as Henry knew they would. If _The Matchmaker_ had featured a narrator, he might have had a better chance. It wasn't that he couldn't read with expression, after all. But to sink himself into a part and pretend to be someone else was a different story. He could read for a character. He couldn't _become_ one. Practicing with Nicholas had only cemented that.

It didn't make him feel much better to see his classmates stumbling through their monologues as his turn to read drew nigh. He took a moment to send a sympathetic look in Nicholas's direction. The casting team wasn't having them read from the play; each auditioner was handed a slim paperback opened to a specific page. Henry could glimpse the title in the hand of the girl reading onstage now: _50/50 Monologues for Student Actors_. Nicholas looked like he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that his preparations with the actual script weren't going to be needed.

"Henry Mills?"

Henry gulped.

"Break a leg," Nicholas whispered.

"My mom would just send me onstage on crutches," Henry deadpanned back. He was rewarded by a snicker as he mounted the steps toward the stage and the doom that awaited him.

* * *

Twelve ships. That was how many they needed to evacuate the Pebble Islands. "Unfortunately," Trimble had explained even before Bené and Merlin had gone off to study, "they're designed to travel between planets. I don't think my systems can be fine-tuned enough to pinpoint a spot on this world where we can all land. And at the speeds we travel, we might not be able to slow down in time. We'd no sooner be up in the air, when we'd have to…"

Bené nodded, not really surprised. "If we had more time," he said, "I might be able to pool my studies with yours in order to do more than simply repair your craft and create more like it. Had we several months, it could be possible to modify this technology so that the Islanders could make a new home within Camelot."

Trimble looked at him sharply and Bené nodded once more. "I've spoken with the governor already. He agrees with our assessment. In order for these people to have their best chance, they will need to leave this realm entirely. Perhaps your land can accommodate them. Perhaps we will need to travel onward when we reach this new realm. But if they remain here, then the threat to their lives, and to Camelot, is too great."

Trimble looked stunned. "You… you have to understand that while people on my planet think that there might be other worlds out there in theory, if I show up with a few thousand refugees from another world, it's going to be… I mean…"

"Your authorities will think us hostile invaders?"

"If they don't, the media will," Trimble nodded. He hesitated, thinking. "You know, the guys who designed my ship did so with the idea that I—or, at least, my andr—I mean, my twin brother, would be undertaking a voyage to the farthest star we'd charted. They told me that there was a shield on the ship that ought to make us invisible to any scans or other detection systems."

"Ought to…?" Bené raised an eyebrow.

"Well, obviously, they can't know. I mean, they're not even sure if there's any life orbiting that star, much less how good their tech is if there is any. They would have had to have made the ship invisible to _Earth's_ top detection systems. Which would mean…"

"Which would mean," Bené said smoothly, "that they did not do so. They would have to have considered the possibility of your capture and interrogation, and that your ship had fallen into enemy hands. They wouldn't equip you with a means of stealing past your own world's defenses." He smiled. "But I can."

"You?" Trimble blinked. "You mean, with a spell like how you're making these other ships?" He gestured to the field before them where pieces of metal and wood were even now shaping themselves into something that was beginning to look like the craft in which he'd arrived.

"Not exactly," Bené admitted. "You are from a land without magic. A spell would fail as soon as we crossed into it. But a device would be another matter." And using the island's raw materials would ensure that the ships wouldn't immediately dissolve once they passed through the portal to Trimble's realm.

"A device?" Trimble shook his head. "Sounds like we're debating semantics."

"It's no debate. It's a loophole. A protection _spell_ won't work. A protection _charm_ , one that emits a glamor field that could make this fleet appear as no more than a flock of birds… that will. But while you will return to the point from which you departed, I rather suspect that your… docking port will not be able to safely accommodate a dozen invisible ships—or flocks of birds."

Trimble nodded slowly. "You're right, there." He frowned, rubbing his forehead. "You know," he said after a moment, "I think I do know a place. Wilderness country; I used to go fishing there a lot up until the last few years. A place in Idaho called the Misty Valley, just on the edge of one of our national forests. There's a small town, ghost town now, really since the silver mine closed about fifteen years back."

"Ghost town?" Bené looked at him askance. "You surely can't mean it's haunted?"

"Wha—?" Trimble laughed. "Oh, no. No, a ghost town is what we call a place that used to have people living in it, but then—usually for economic reasons—everyone packed up and cleared out. Like when a mine goes dry, or the factory the town was built for goes bankrupt." He took a breath. "I don't have to explain factories or bankruptcy, do I?"

Bené smiled. "No, not at all. So, you're telling me that there's a largely-uninhabited area where we can land unseen, and when we do, we'll find shelter waiting and food nearby? You did mention fishing, and I would presume that the forest has edible fruits and greens?"

Trimble blinked. Then a smile came to his face, one almost as bright as the twin star-emblem on the wall tapestry, emblem of the governor of the islands. "Yes. Yes, it does."

Bené's smile broadened as well. "I believe that sounds perfect…"

* * *

Belle had opened the library late and spent most of her time behind the circulation desk. Not many people came in, which meant that she was able to spend her time sitting behind the circulation desk in a cushioned swivel chair. She tried not to look at the full trucks of books waiting to be shelved as morning slid into afternoon and drifted toward evening.

She'd left Astrid in the apartment curled up with her copy of _Wuthering Heights_. She was hoping that the fairy enjoyed it. It wasn't that people in Storybrooke didn't read; going by the aforementioned book trucks, many did. However, the books checked out tended to fall into two camps. First there was something Belle thought of as 'non-fiction for practical purposes'. She knew that when Marco came in, he'd be headed directly for the carpentry section or checking to see whether the latest issue of _Extreme How-To_ was in the periodicals reading area. Snow and David were always browsing the child development section, just as they had the pregnancy and fetal development sections before Neal's birth. Plenty of students, from the first-graders starting at Storybrooke Elementary who came in with their parents, through to the young adults attending Storybrooke College would be searching for help with some project or paper and looking for a book that their school library either didn't stock or had already released to another patron. Probably three quarters of the books to go back on the shelves fell into that category.

As far as fiction went, though… Well, to be fair, there were a handful of young people who seemed to love curling up with a good book as much as she did. Most of the others who came in seemed to go for the mass-market romances and suspense thrillers that Belle thought were rather generic. Take one protagonist from column A, one love interest from column B, one setting from column C… Belle had read a dozen or so of them and was hard-put now to remember which details went with which title.

She remembered the lively discussions she'd had with her mother and her tutors over her readings and wished that she had someone in Storybrooke with whom she could do that now. She'd tried with the schoolchildren, but some were shy, some seemed to react as though she was quizzing them on the material, and all preferred diving into a new book to discussing an old one. If Astrid enjoyed _Wuthering Heights_ , then she and Belle could really delve into the story together. They'd talk about the characters and explore the themes and then look at the body of criticism and see whether they'd unknowingly come up with the same insights that someone before had found or whether they'd come up with something new, and… Belle froze. And then a look of consternation crossed her face. She was doing it again. She was taking one hope, one observation, one puzzle piece and trying to assemble entire… jigsaw out of it without bothering to find out whether the picture she saw that piece fitting matched the image on the box. Astrid was a person, not a puzzle. Belle sensed a kindred spirit in her, but how well did she truly know the fairy, after all?

_I don't make up my mind about a character after reading one paragraph. Surely I can take longer than a day to make my mind up about Astrid. Maybe she'll want to discuss the book with me. Maybe she's the kind who just takes down what she reads and parrots it back without forming opinions of her own. Maybe she's just never read a book that wasn't assigned to her before and it's a novelty to her and tomorrow, she'll be doing crosswords or… or even going back to the convent and studying to be a fairy godmother. I have to let her decide instead of… of trying to make her over into what I think she ought to be._

Even if Belle did think she had a few ideas with regard to what was best for Astrid. Because Astrid had left the convent to get away from people who claimed to know what was best for her and only ended up making her miserable in the process. And while Belle might not be Blue, she too had no small capacity for complacency, self-righteousness, an assurance that her way was the right way and everyone would thank her for interfering in the end.

Belle shook her head, furious with herself. She was trying to change. She was! But it was so hard not to revert…

The door opened and her father strode in. Before Belle could rise to greet him, he was looming over her at the desk. "I suppose you put him up to that?" he demanded.

Belle blinked. "Father?"

"Sending him round to the shop to try to make amends so we could all be one happy family? You should stick to your books and stop trying to meddle in things you don't understand."

Belle felt her own temper begin to simmer, but parental respect kept her tone even, though she clutched at the edge of her desk for support while she replied, "Father? What on earth are you talking about?"

* * *

Bené had come a long way from the bored, frustrated boy who'd enchanted a broom to get him out of a menial task all those years ago. And the duplication cantrip he'd accidentally worked into that spell was something he could now cast with ease and purpose. A good thing, too. Trimble wanted to be certain that if anything went wrong and the ships didn't all land at the same site, the passengers would still be able to find their way to Stony Creek and Misty Valley.

Each refugee had been issued a small carry-case bearing the twin-star emblem of the Pebble Islands. Partly, it was to remind them of where they were from. But the emblems also served to conceal an area map of Misty Valley, drawn by Tom Trimble's twin brother Hermes. It wouldn't help much if the ship landed in some other part of the Trimbles' realm; according to Tom, the region wasn't one that many would have heard of. However, sooner or later, they were bound to come across someone who might point them in the right direction. There were many advantages to steering for an obscure destination. Those benefits far outweighed the risk of some refugees being flung off-course and unable to easily find their way to the others.

"At least you all look like the people from our world," Tom had remarked.

Bené nodded. He wished he knew what effect this world, this Land without Magic would have on a select segment of the population. For while many had the aptitude to acquire magic through years of study as he had, there were others who were born with the power. And while it was more than likely that crossing the boundary would neutralize all magical talent whether learned or innate, it wasn't something that he could be certain of until they were actually in this new land.

* * *

After Moe left, Belle locked the library door behind him. She'd lost track of the time and already been open past closing when he'd stormed in. As she set about shutting down the computer terminals for the evening and closing the lights, she was trying to process what he'd told her and wondering what she ought to make of it.

Had Rumple tried to apologize to her father because he was genuinely sorry for what he'd done? Was it part of some plan or scheme? Was it all a ploy to… to show her that he was trying to be a better person? And if it was an attempt to impress her, was that such a terrible thing?

_If he'd wanted to impress me, wouldn't he have told me what he meant to do?_

Belle wasn't so sure. Rumple read most people the way she read books. He must have guessed that she'd find out what had happened from her father in short order. But why wouldn't Rumple have talked to her about this? Weren't they trying to be more open with each other? Was he still afraid to trust her?

Belle flicked off the light switch in the Group Study Room C with a bit more vehemence than was warranted. Rumple wasn't the Dark One anymore. She didn't have to be constantly on her guard against missing some twisted scheme or other. If Rumple hadn't told her what he was about, then he must have had his reasons.

She just wished she could think of one that didn't make her feel sick inside. Because if he wasn't trying to hide some plot or plan from her, then he was probably still afraid to lower his walls around her. She understood why he'd open up to Emma, even if she wasn't pleased about it. But Regina? What was _that_ about?

"Belle?"

She turned, startled. "Astrid?"

"Sorry," the fairy said. "I-I thought the library closed an hour ago and I was wondering what was taking so long. You said we were going to go borrow that cot from Granny's at seven and it's almost time now and…" She broke off. "Belle? Are you okay?"

Belle smiled. "Of course. I… just lost track of time. Here. We'll leave through the apartment; I just need to get my coat."

Astrid tilted her head to one side. "You're sure you're okay? You look, uh, kind of upset."

Belle sighed. "I guess I am, a little. Nothing you need to worry about, though. I'm fine." She added in a slightly lower tone, "Or will be, anyway."

Astrid tilted her head to the other side. "All right," she said finally. "But if you want to talk about it, I'm here."

She didn't, but she felt her lips curve into a small smile regardless. She couldn't remember the last time that anyone had extended that sort of offer in her direction. She knew that, if she were to ask for a listening ear, there would be plenty of people around who would be happy to oblige. All the same, it was nice to have someone volunteer one without her approaching them first. "Thanks," she said sincerely. "As long as we're at Granny's, we may as well get takeout for supper and tomorrow, maybe we'll do a grocery run."

"Sure."

* * *

Fate had a way of giving people exactly as much time as they required, no more, no less. The ships had been finished and stocked less than twenty-four hours before Bené's scry-spell detected Malagant and his forces streaking toward them on ships with ghostly-gray sails that crackled lightning from masts and rigging.

"Get in and prepare for departure!" Trimble ordered. "Bené, take the lead ship!"

The Apprentice hastened to obey, nearly stumbling over a kitten that appeared out of nowhere.

"Winky!" a child cried and Bené, stooped down to scoop the small black-furred creature up. "Here," he said, handing it to the parents of a girl of no more than four years old. She dropped him a hasty curtsey. "Thank you, Uncle…" she said, addressing him as she might any adult, related or not.

"Bené," he smiled.

"I'm Tia."

"And we all have places to be," the woman holding Tia's left hand in her right and the hand of a slightly-younger boy in her left said quickly. "Come along now. Don't bother Uncle Bené."

Bené inclined his head thankfully, but something made him add, "Good manners are seldom a bother, good woman. And neither's your daughter"

While boarding proceeded swiftly, it was far from instantaneous. The pilots knew their craft—Merlin had been able to help with that much; some spell he was tinkering with to implant memories and knowledge far outside a subject's ken had proven quite useful. Still, it wasn't clear whether those memories would make them truly expert at this new craft, or whether they would have the theory, but not the reflexes.

No sooner had they lifted off when Bené's communication device—radio, Trimble had called it—crackled to life. "That door in the sky you said you can make?" Trimble snapped. "Now would be a really good time to make it!"

Bené's eyes widened as he peered out the portal window. Malagant's fleet had arrived. And while the gray ships couldn't fly, the same could not be said for the enormous fireball that was even now streaking toward them. Bené waved his hand in the direction that they were moving and the portal appeared. But now a new problem occurred to him: once his ship passed through, the portal would seal behind him. He walked over to the pilot and explained tersely. "It would appear," he said, "that we can no longer be the lead ship."

"I understand," the pilot said. "I wish you could have told me before lift-off; we could have made some changes to the roster, gotten the children assigned to other vessels. But wishing solves nothing. Do you know where the escape pods are?"

Of course he did; he'd memorized the schematics. "Get the children into them now," the pilot continued. "If we're attacked, get them away from here if you can. You may have to launch them manually if it comes to that." He smiled. "My thanks for that knowledge spell. I'm realizing that I know… quite a bit more about how to maneuver this craft that I'd realized before I sat down in this chair. But I should caution you that things are going to get rather… rough."

Bené needed no urging. While the pilot hastily informed both the other ships and the crew about the change in plans, he raced down the corridors to the children's quarters and made his explanations to the crew members assigned to look after them. A few minutes later, he was escorting some fifty boys and girls, ranging in age from fourteen or so to babies in arms.

"Think of this as a drill for the moment," he reassured them as he bundled them into the pods. "With any luck, you'll be out of these soon."

No sooner had he finished speaking when an unseen force seemed to fling the ship off course. A moment later, the lighting failed, plunging the evacuation chamber into total darkness.

A small child began to wail and the sound was quickly picked up and echoed by others.

And, thinking of the fireball he'd seen only a short while before, Bené wondered whether it was only his imagination…

…Or whether the temperature inside the ship was rising.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

It was nice to have someone around in the evening, Belle reflected. She and Astrid had eaten supper while watching TV—something Astrid confessed she’d never done before. “If I wasn’t at the hospital or doing my duties at the convent, I was studying,” the young fairy admitted. “First for the novitiate,” she rolled her eyes slightly, “and later… well, Blue kept telling me I’d never make godmother if I didn’t apply myself.” She smiled sadly. “I guess she was right on that one. She just never mentioned that I probably didn’t have it in me, no matter how hard I tried.”

“Now, you don’t know that,” Belle protested.

Astrid was still smiling. “Yes, I do. And I probably would have recognized it sooner if I’d ever had the chance to try anything else. But she scuttled that,” she added with a hint of bitterness.

“Are you and…” Belle hesitated, wondering whether Grumpy was still Grumpy or if he’d decided to go by ‘Dreamy’ again, “Leroy,” she continued, playing it safe, “seeing each other now?”

Astrid didn’t answer immediately. “I think so,” she said slowly. “I mean… I hope so. I think. I…” She let out a breath. “When he told me, all those years ago, that he wasn’t coming with me to see the fireflies, he broke my heart. And even though I know the whole story now,” she sucked in a breath and let it out. “I mean, _I_ couldn’t stand up to Blue back then; that’s why we were going to sneak off together. And from what Leroy said to me last night, he had to face Blue _and_ Bossy. I can’t blame him for giving in. I shouldn’t.”

“But you do,” Belle said softly, understanding.

“A little,” she admitted. Then, hastily, “But I still love him!”

“I know,” Belle said. “Believe me.”

“I want to,” Astrid said. “But how can you kn… Oh!” She focused her attention fully on Belle with dawning comprehension. “You too?”

“Yeah,” Belle’s confession was barely audible. “M-me too.”

“Nobody ever said that love could be this… complicated,” Astrid said, squeezing Belle’s hand fiercely. Belle squeezed back.

* * *

 

_Space, Many years ago…_

Bené forced down a wave of dread. He had to stay calm, for the children’s sake if nothing else. He cleared his mind, closed his eyes, and took several deep breaths. Mercifully, the lights came on again, albeit markedly dimmer than before. “Is everyone all right?” he asked. He was gratified to realize that he sounded concerned, but that no hint of fear breached his emotional defenses. He was the only adult in the vicinity. If the children picked up on the terror that gripped him now, then they would only amplify it. _And among these children were those whose mental abilities would allow them to project their feelings onto others. Perhaps even to the crew._

Slowly, the answers trickled back. “What happened?”

The Apprentice hoped that the smile in his voice would reassure them. “I’m going to find out,” he said. He moved to the box on the wall—intercom, Trimble had called it—and groped for the button that would activate it. “What is our status?” he asked in a clipped tone.

The pilot—Bené had never even bothered to ask his name—answered at once.

“Are you all uninjured down there?”

“For the moment. What happened?”

There was a long pause punctuated by a crackle of… Trimble had called it ‘static’. “Well,” the pilot said, “the good news is that we’re now through that door and it closed behind us before Malagant could follow. Unfortunately, he blasted us with… something. I don’t think it was fire exactly. As I understand it, flames can’t last out here.”

“Magical flames may not follow that rule,” Bené admitted. “But leave that. How damaged are we?”

The pilot hesitated. And though his voice remained calm and steady, there was no mistaking the seriousness of his tone. “That’s the bad news. We’re leaking fuel.”

Bené’s hands went ice-cold. “Am I to understand,” he began heavily, ignoring another crackle, “that…”

“I think I can still land us,” the pilot said. “But we aren’t going to make it to Misty Valley as we are. I need you to jettison the pods.”

“Are you quite certain?”

The pilot’s voice remained even, assurance audible despite the static that grew louder and more pronounced with every moment. “It’ll give all of us our best chance. If you jettison the pods now, they’ll land in the ocean. They should hit close enough to shore to be detected by local crafts which will pick them up. And without the weight of the pods and their cargo—human and otherwise—I think we might just barely reach the landing coordinates.”

“I understand,” Bené said. “But once the inhabitants of this realm see the pods, they’ll…” He smiled. “Lifeboats.”

Trimble had given him the plans for those as well—made of a strange, slippery fabric, something like the rubber Merlin occasionally procured from those merchants who traveled the south caravan route. There was one stowed in each escape pod. The pods could seat twelve adults or twenty children. The boats would seat the same number.

“Exactly. Bené,” the pilot said sharply, “does each pod have at least one person aboard who’ll be able to inflate the boat?”

Every passenger over the age of nine could. Bené frowned, remembering. Not all of the children he’d escorted here had been happy about it. Several had pleaded to stay behind. He’d refused them… But now he thought of it, _he hadn’t seen them enter any of the pods either!_ Hastily, he peered into each of the open pods. His breath caught when he took in the inhabitants of the seventh. If any of the others… but no. The other eleven pods were fine. “Pod G,” he relayed. “The oldest aboard can’t be more than six. I could move one of the others—”

“No,” the pilot cut him off. “No, there’s no time to start mixing things up now. You go with them.”

“But—”

“You can’t fly this thing and I don’t need you here. The children do. Watch out for them, Bené. Make sure they have their star-cases with the maps. And when they’re able to seek us out,” the static was even louder now. Bené had to strain to make out the pilot’s instructions through the noise, “make sure that they know… that the watchword… is…” Another crackle almost completely drowned out the pilot’s final word. Almost, but not quite.

_Castaway._

* * *

 

Rumple had much to reflect on that night. Was he self-sabotaging again? It would scarcely be surprising if he was. Any time that his fortunes seemed poised to take a turn for the better, he never failed to stumble and fall flat on his face. If he was extremely fortunate, he merely ended up where he’d been in the first place and not even farther behind.

Becoming the Dark One had made the pattern more obvious, but that had been but one poor decision—a link in a chain of poor decisions both earlier and later.

Everything had been going so well. What had possessed him to kick _that_ hornet’s nest?

He wondered whether he could talk it over with Belle. He did want to; he’d have to be a fool not to see that she was upset that he still wasn’t opening up to her the way he had previously. The irony was that ‘previously’ he’d never let on just how much he was keeping from her. She’d been happy with him because she’d been blissfully unaware of his plots and schemes. And now… well, he was still closing himself off, still keeping things from her, but at least, he was being _open_ about it.

He sucked in his breath. She _was_ going to find out about this; if not from him, then from her father. He _thought_ he could rely on Regina’s discretion. In fact, he was almost positive he could. Moe French was altogether a different matter.

Rumple sighed. He might no longer be the Dark One, but he was still a coward. And since he hadn’t had the nerve to discuss his plans with Belle earlier, things were only going to be worse when she learned what he’d done. He’d deceived her too many times and far too recently. He’d kept things from her, hidden his plans beneath a web of glib talk and misdirection, and now, even though he’d meant well… Well, hadn’t that been his excuse so many time before?

The fact that he truly had been trying to do the right thing this time wasn’t going to help. She’d accuse him of reverting and…

…And maybe he was. Maybe he just couldn’t help himself.

Maybe he was still cursed, after all.

Maybe, he should reach out and discuss this with… He shook his head. No, he really didn’t want to talk this over with anyone. Not even anyone who had promised to be there for him if he needed a listening ear. He wasn’t going to call that number on his phone.

But knowing that it was there, knowing that it was an option, did make him feel marginally better. And perhaps, a cup of tea and a good night’s sleep might help.

Things might look better in the morning.

Maybe.

* * *

 

_Pacific Ocean, U.S. Coastal Waters, 11.8 nautical miles off the coast of Washington State, many years ago._

Bené had never experienced freefall before, and certainly not for hours unending. Years later, he would learn how lucky he and the others had been, that had they been traveling even slightly faster, had the outer hull been even slightly weaker, they might have burned up in the atmosphere above and never survived the landing. As it was, when they hit, they hit hard.

Most of the children screamed. Bené wouldn’t remember doing so himself, but he would subsequently wonder whether some sense of dignity had blotted out that part of his recollection. And then a small hand slipped into his. “Uncle Bené?” a small voice said hesitantly in his mind. “Is this our new home?”

He took a breath. “It’s Tia, isn’t it?” he said. He’d recognized the little girl almost at once when he’d slid into the seat beside hers, but he sometimes had a poor memory for names.

“Yes.”

“Hi!” a new voice chimed in. “I’m Tony!”

And even a harrowing descent and a rough landing couldn’t dampen the exuberance in the boy’s voice. Bené smiled. “Well, Tony,” he said aloud, “and Tia,” he added, “I believe we have a task ahead of us. We need to get the hatch open and the lifeboat out.”

“And then?” Tia asked, still in his mind.

“Then, we need to get into the boat and await rescue.”

He didn’t want to think what might happen if none was forthcoming. But even if help did arrive, the local authorities would have questions. And children were not always circumspect in their answers. Bené weighed his options. Then he took a small vial from within the folds of his robe. “Is there any flatbread in rations?” he asked.

A boy with unruly sandy curls, who looked to be about six, reached over his head and pulled down a survival pack. “I think so, Uncle,” he replied, unfastening the ties. A moment later, Bené held a cloth-wrapped package in his hands, clearly labeled. He opened it and smiled. Twenty-four children in the pod. Yes, there was enough food and potion. It would do.

“What are you doing, Uncle Bené?” Tony asked, as he drizzled the potion over the bread.

“You must be hungry,” Bené remarked. “Here.” He tore off a piece of the flat bread and handed it to the boy. “And for the rest of you,” he went on, ripping off chunks and passing them around. The draught was odorless, tasteless, and harmless. But it would make the children open to suggestion for a short period of time. And unlike other means of altering consciousness such as hypnosis, it would not require regular reinforcement.

The children took the proffered food readily enough. Once they’d consumed it, Bené waited several minutes until he could be sure it had taken effect. Then he smiled sadly.

“Once you leave this vessel,” he said, “you will forget. You will forget Camelot and the Pebble Islands. You will forget everything of your lives before leaving this escape pod, retaining only your names, your ages, and the need to retain your star-cases, no matter what happens.”

“I don’t have mine,” a small voice piped up.

Bené regarded the speaker gravely. “Have you a sibling with you, Alexander?”

The little boy shook his head.

The Apprentice looked about. “Are there any here with a brother or sister in this pod?” A half-dozen hands shot up. He didn’t know most of the names, so perhaps it was unfair of him to single out the two he did. But decisions needed to be made and he wasn’t about to suggest drawing straws.

“Tony,” he said, “give Alexander your star-case. And now, you must ensure that your sister keeps hers and that you stay with her.” He took a breath. “You will each remember the importance of the star-cases, but you will forget the map concealed behind the front panel. Someday, somehow, those maps will make themselves known to you and when that occurs, you will begin to remember who you are and where you come from. You will remember,” he added, remembering the pilot’s words, “the name ‘Castaway’. So long as you retain that much, your people will always find you.” He looked at the children, committing each face to his own memory. “Do you understand?”

A chorus of yeses greeted his question.

“Very well.” He nodded to the six-year-old who had handed him the flatbread. “It’s time to open the hatch.”

* * *

 

Belle awakened in the middle of the night, or, going by the red digital display on the alarm clock by her bedside table, the wee hours of the morning. Everything was stiff and sore and she could barely rouse herself to stumble to the bathroom. Astrid was sound asleep and snoring softly, almost musically. It wasn’t an unpleasant sound, but Belle didn’t think she was likely to fall back to sleep now.

Sighing, she made her way to her small kitchen. She didn’t want herbal tea, nor any drink likely to keep her awake. As a child, she’d occasionally enjoyed a mug of warm milk, but while it wouldn’t be unwelcome now, she thought she’d rather something less… mundane. She pondered for a moment. Then she remembered something that Anna had purchased for her before they’d set out to visit the rock trolls. It had been a warm drink, milk-based, yes, but sweeter with an aniseed flavoring. Thoughtfully, she picked up her phone from the counter where it had been charging and brought up Google. Here it was. “ _Anijsmelk_ ,” she said aloud. “Anise milk. I suppose that’s descriptive. And fairly easy to make; it’s just milk, honey, and aniseed.” She didn’t have whole milk, unfortunately, but two percent would suffice; the drink simply wouldn’t taste as rich. She smiled as she eased herself out of the chair and took a small saucepan down from an upper cabinet. She was rather partial to anise as a flavoring, for all that it seemed to be a taste that most people she knew loved to hate. It oughtn’t to be any odder than adding cinnamon to chocolate—a combination that Belle had a hard time wrapping her own head about. To each their own.

As she got the milk out of the fridge and poured it, first into a measuring cup, and then into the saucepan, she found herself thinking back to her father’s visit and wondering what she ought to do, or if she ought to do anything.

Rumple hadn’t consulted her, it was true, but then he seldom did. She shouldn’t be surprised or hurt by it; he’d always been close-mouthed about his affairs, even around her. But he was supposed to be trying to change.

_And she was supposed to be trying to trust him._

Trying to change didn’t necessarily mean being more open and above-board about everything in short order. They were both still working on getting to know one another all over again, including the parts of themselves they’d tried not to let show. She still didn’t know for sure how much of her feelings for Rumple had been for him and how much for the Dark One who’d resided within him. And, at least to herself, she could admit that she was more than a little frightened of what she might find out. Because if she _was_ attracted to Darkness in some way, however slight, and Rumple had lost that part of him… She didn’t want to be one more person he’d thought loved him only to reject him. She’d already rejected him too many times and this second chance had not been granted her easily.

But it was one thing to be attracted to Darkness and another to turn a blind eye to…

Rumple had never liked her father. So why had he sought him out today? Yesterday. Whatever, it might be after midnight, but it still felt like the middle of the night. Father hadn’t believed that—or cared whether—Rumple’s show of remorse had been genuine.

Belle cared.

Was her husband truly trying to make amends for the past…

…Or was he trying to exact some sort of retribution in a way that made him seem like the hero and her father, the villain?

And really, with or without Darkness fueling Rumple’s motives, either option might be valid.

She could talk to him.

She could, but even asking for an explanation could be perceived as a lack of trust. And right now, after everything he’d been through, not just with her, not just in the last few months, but for nearly his entire life, the last thing he probably needed was to suspect that the people he’d finally come to believe in and rely upon still questioned his every action, as though they were waiting for him to fail.

If she brought the subject up with him, she’d have to do so in a way that wouldn’t put him on the defensive. Emma and August seemed so good at that. Or, at least, he seemed more willing to discuss his reasons with them. Was it because they knew how to draw him out? Or was it because their rejection of his arguments would hurt him nearly as much as hers might? Probably, Belle allowed, it was a bit of both.

So, how could she make him feel safe enough to open up to her, when she wasn’t entirely sure that she _wouldn’t_ reject a truth she didn’t want to hear?

She couldn’t.

And she couldn’t go back to her father and try to get him to tell her objectively what had happened, without coloring his account with past recriminations and current accusations.

Emma and August would sympathize with her. They’d understand. They’d try to help her find positive slants for Rumple’s actions—something she was having no trouble doing on her own; she just wanted to be certain that such views were warranted.

So, she needed to talk to someone who’d actually been there.

She squeezed honey into a tablespoon, stirred it into the simmering milk and aniseed, and repeated the action. She needed to talk to Regina.

* * *

 

The children were frightened. They were island dwellers; they knew their way around fishing boats well enough, but they’d never seen a craft like this. No sail, entirely made of fabric—and not canvas sailcloth, made from cotton or hemp. No, this was slick and slippery, difficult for small hands to grip. It was fortunate that each child also wore a jacket made from similar fabric that kept them afloat in these rough waters. And that all but the very smallest could, if not swim, then at the very least, tread water.

“My case!” a little girl’s anguished cry caught Bené’s attention. Tia’s hair was soaking wet, which made it appear darker. He might not have known her, were it not for her younger brother, already aboard the inflatable lifeboat, and holding fast to the back of her floatation jacket. Bené saw the star-case, bobbing just out of her reach.

“Stay there,” he called. “I’ll get it.” He had a toddler on each shoulder and he thrashed his way over to the lifeboat to deposit them. He knew how to swim, but he was glad of his own floatation jacket.

Without the added weight of the children, he reached the case with swift, sure, strokes. As he turned to bring it back to its owner, he caught sight of something welcome: an approaching vessel. To Bené’s eyes, it was a metal fortress gliding toward them. He could just make out the image of a flag painted on its hull. Trimble’s ship had born such a device. They were saved.

And then, another thought struck him. No government would consider a boatload of small children to be spies or invaders. When they proved unable to answer questions about who they were, where they were from, or how they’d come to be adrift in the water, doubtless, it would be assumed that the older ones were too traumatized and the younger too inarticulate. They would be looked after. Perhaps adopted, perhaps apprenticed, but they would be taken in and cared for.

But only if he wasn’t with them.

He was an adult and old enough to give an accounting of himself. He might feign memory loss for a time, but sooner or later, these authorities would realize that he was not of them. They would have suspicions he wouldn’t know how to begin to allay. And those suspicions would extend to anyone found with him.

Bené looked at the approaching ship. He looked at the lifeboat filled with frightened children. And he made his decision. The children needed their best chance. And Tia? Tia needed her star-case, particularly since her brother no longer had his. He paddled back to the lifeboat and passed the case into the child’s outstretched hand. As soon as he knew that she’d grasped its strap tightly, he smiled.

And then, he let himself fall backwards below the surface of the water.

He could hold his breath for nearly three minutes without difficulty. Thanks to his master’s lessons, he could create a portal in less than one. By the time the rescue ship reached the lifeboat, Bené was gone.

He would pass the next few years in the realm of Misthaven, a land which its own denizens called ‘The Enchanted Forest’.

* * *

 

“So,” Belle said, “it-it’s not that I don’t trust him. I mean, I-I want to. But he and my father… I mean, the way they feel about each other, I don’t know what the real story is or what actually happened yesterday. And since you were there…”

Regina regarded Belle coolly. “I take it you haven’t discussed things with Rumple, then.”

Belle shifted guiltily in her chair. “Not yet. I…” she colored slightly. “I feel like I’m so afraid of doing things wrong that I don’t know how I dare to do anything. If I ask him about it, he might think I’m trying to interrogate him. Or that I feel like he went behind my back.”

“Do you?” Regina asked.

Belle sucked in her breath. “I’m trying not to.”

Regina sighed. “You realize that this is putting me in a difficult position. Because I’m not sure I ought to be going behind _his_ back. If he hasn’t told you yet, it might not be my place.”

Belle looked up slightly. “ _Might_ not be?” she echoed, nearly pouncing on the hint that the mayor was wavering.

Regina sighed again. “Would it help if I were to tell you that Rumple’s going to see your father was only remotely connected with you?”

A puzzled frown came to the librarian’s face. “Then… why…?”

Now it was Regina’s turn to shift in her chair. And Belle thought she must be imagining the guilty look in her eyes. After all, Regina seldom felt guilty about _anything_. Why, even when she’d apologized to Belle for locking her up for thirty years, Belle warranted that it had stemmed, not from remorse, but from expedience. If saying a few words and seeming to mean them got her closer to foiling Zelena’s plans, then they were words well-spoken. But that didn’t mean that Regina regretted her past misdeeds.

Regina didn’t answer for a moment. Then, hesitantly, she asked, “Have either your father or Rumple ever told you the reason for the animosity between them?”

Belle blinked. “They didn’t have to. Back in our land, when the Ogre War reached our duchy, I’d persuaded Father to write to the Dark One and plead for his help. Rumple named me as his price. I accepted over Father’s protests.” She shook her head slightly. “Father called him a beast. Rumple laughed at him.” Her forehead creased in frown. “Are you saying that there’s more to it than that?”

Regina nodded reluctantly. “Quite a bit more, in fact. When you burst in here, you asked a question I didn’t answer, if you’ll recall.”

Belle nodded back. ‘Bursting’ probably was the best turn of phrase for it; she’d stormed into the mayor’s office without bothering to knock and asked—demanded, rather—to know why Rumple had gone to her father and why Regina had gone with him. Regina had reacted by looking her up and down coolly, in a way that made her feel like a child being dressed down by her etiquette tutor before calmly inviting her to sit down and making her a cup of tea. Belle reached for the cup now, even though the liquid that remained had gone cold.

“All right. I suppose, I may as well just come out and say it. The terms Rumple set for his assistance certainly didn’t start proceedings on the right foot. But that’s not the reason for your father’s animosity.” She took another breath and let it out. Then she looked Belle directly in the eye and said firmly, “I am.”

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, Belle practically ran out of the Storybrooke town hall, trying to put as much distance as she could between herself and that building before she broke down utterly. All that time when she’d been chained in Regina’s tower and later, locked up in the hospital basement, Rumple had thought that her father had… And then, Regina had prompted her father to rob… And Rumple had…

And Regina had just sat there, calmly, coolly, telling her all of this and finishing with an apology that, granted, had sounded more heartfelt than the one she’d extended a few short months earlier, but one Belle felt far less inclined to accept.

Rumple had never been the only monster in Storybrooke. He hadn’t even been the most monstrous. Well. If Belle never had to sit across a table from Regina again, it would be too soon. She and the mayor were _done_ and that was all there was to it.

“I should’ve cheered that wraith on,” she muttered. She was almost at the shop and she took a moment to compose herself before she reached it.

* * *

 

Rumple was behind the counter, polishing the glass top with a dust rag, which he set down the moment she walked in. “Belle,” he greeted her with a nervous smile, as he came out to the main floor of the shop.

She thought she could guess the reason for his worry and she drew closer, nearly falling into his embrace. “Father came to the library last night,” she murmured. “Are-are you all right?”

The sigh of relief and the way he relaxed in her arms wasn’t her imagination.

* * *

 

Lily got up expectantly when Ursula came into the aquarium lobby at the end of her shift. “Okay,” the older woman said. “I got Andrina to trade shifts with me. I’ll have to work the weekend, but I’ve got Thursday and Friday off.”

“So?” Lily asked, cautiously.

“So,” Ursula said, “Wednesday after work, we’re going to Penn Station. We’ll catch the train to Great Neck and, once we’re there…” she smiled, “we’ll track down Cruella.”

“You’re sure she’s still there?” Lily asked. “I mean, the arrest was a couple of months ago. She might have moved on.”

Ursula shook her head. “I don’t think so. You see, Cruella and I go pretty far back. I know a few things about what she wants and doesn’t want. And I can tell you this: just so long as she can entice dashing young men to buy her drinks and take her to jazz bars… she won’t have gone _anywhere_.” She looked at Lily sharply. “But unless you’ve come up with a decent plan, once we find Cruella and I introduce the two of you, that’s it. I may have a lousy job and a lousy life, but it can always be worse. And I’m not about to gamble away the little I’ve got unless there are some pretty compelling odds in my favor.”

Lily smiled. “Don’t worry,” she said grimly. “There will be.”


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: According to the Celebheights Website, Emilie de Ravin is 157cm (Between 5'1½" and 5'2") tall and Amy Acker is 170.2cm (5'7").

**Chapter Eight**

 

Regina hated drinking alone. She also hated reaching out and asking for help. If someone approached her and offered assistance, that was different, but she'd been taught early on that asking for help displayed vulnerability, vulnerability meant weakness, and weakness meant offering others the opportunity to use and exploit you.

"Thank you, Mother," she muttered, as she poured boiling water over the teabag in her earthenware mug. "For ensuring that your lessons would stick." As she waited for the tea to steep, she considered. She didn't need to do this. She could just have the tea without adding anything more mundane than lemon, sweetener, or perhaps, some milk.

She'd seen Belle angry before, Heaven knew. For all that the librarian maintained an air of affable approachability, Regina had long known that something far less composed seethed beneath the surface. It was just so easy to forget most of the time, for Belle's temper seldom made itself seen. But when it did…

* * *

_Regina had allowed her newest captive to cool her heels in her tower cell for nearly two weeks before she'd deigned to visit her. During that time, she'd watched in her mirror with some amusement while the young woman sought some means of escape. Belle made no attempt to flirt with her guard nor win his sympathies—not that it would have worked. Claude might not be averse to a bit of… companionship… but his loyalty was unquestioning. Regina hadn't even needed to take his heart to secure it. But while Belle hadn't made any overtures to her jailer, she had noted that the lone window, though narrow, was unbarred. Regina smiled as she observed her captive climb onto the window sill. It was a dizzying drop down and she was pleased that the young woman had, as yet, not tried it. All magic came with a price and Regina didn't care to pay it before it was absolutely necessary. Still, when she realized that Belle was actually unraveling her lone blanket and attempting to plait it into a rope, she recognized that the time was at hand. She made her way to the tower._

_Belle was sitting on the hard cot that was really a shelf built into the wall with only a thin straw tick for a mattress. Not the most comfortable bed, but Regina wondered whether Rumple had truly given her even that much comfort. If he had, she reflected, it had surely not without demanding something in return. At the queen's entry, the prisoner sprang to her feet, eyes flashing dangerously._

_"Just how long do you intend on keeping me here?" Belle demanded._

_Regina smiled. "For as long as it suits me, dear. After that," she sighed, "I suppose I'll have to arrange some fitting disposition for you, but that's not likely to be for a good long while. So long," her gaze flicked from Belle's blanket—its unraveled edge carefully tucked down—to the window, "as you don't do anything foolish."_

_Belle lifted her chin and, had Regina not seen its slight quiver, nor noted the slight trembling of the maiden's knees beneath her long blue skirts, she might almost have been fooled by the show of courage._

_"I do think that dress suits you better than that outfit you had on when I found you," Regina added. "Not everyone can pull off leather."_

_Belle didn't rise to the bait. "I'm the daughter of Duke Maurice of Avonlea," she said evenly. "I've committed no crime. By not releasing me, you risk war with my father."_

_The queen raised an eyebrow. "Even if_ Duke _Maurice learned your whereabouts, do you truly imagine that he'd raise arms against me?"_

_"He'll—"_

_"The ogres decimated your armies, didn't they? I mean, that's why you turned to Rumpelstiltskin in the first place. Your crops were scorched, your fields salted. With the Dark One's help, your people won't starve this winter and next year's crop will probably sprout. But with so many soldiers dead or maimed in the fighting," Regina shook her head with mock-sadness, "it may come down to a choice: let the people work the land," her voice hardened, "or lead a battle-weary force of hungry, ragtag men and women to a strong, heavily defended kingdom…" Her forehead creased for a moment. "I'm forgetting something," she murmured in a tone meant to be overheard. "Ah, yes. I'm told you're quite the scholar. Have you ever studied geography, dear?"_

_Belle blinked. "Of course," she snapped._

_"Good." A scroll appeared in the Evil Queen's hand and she unfurled it with a snap. "I trust you recognize this map?" She pointed to a small irregular shape to the northeast. "See? Here's Avonlea. And here," she traced a path several inches westward, "separated by three—or four, depending on the route chosen—other lands… This is where we are now. So, in order to rescue you, your father would need to lead an armed force through a number of uninvolved kingdoms, perhaps the odd duchy or earldom, none of whom are likely to countenance a military invasion across their borders. Your father would either have to turn back, or attack these other armies—all of whom would be, at this point, better fed, better equipped, and better motivated to fight. Probably greater in number, too. Not the best exercise in morale-building. You know, it wouldn't surprise me if the majority of your father's forces turned back. And if, by some faint chance, they didn't, and if, by some even fainter chance, Avonlea won those battles, your father would still reach my borders with a fraction of his armies—his tired, hungry, disheartened, battle-weary armies—set to face my forces." She smiled. "And here I thought you surrendered yourself to Rumpelstiltskin to save your people, not add to their dead. But if you've changed your mind…"_

_The map vanished and, a piece of blank parchment appeared in Belle's hand. She looked at it in confusion._

_"Here," Regina said, thrusting an inkpot and quill at her. "Write to him. Ask him to come rescue you." She shook her head. "That is, if you aren't afraid to risk finding out how little you might mean to him. I mean, he was going to marry you off to a brute in exchange for the promise of military aid. And even if he protested the deal you struck with the Dark One, he did stand back and allow you to leave, didn't he? Maybe you're not as important to him as you think you are." She smiled. "Shall we find out?"_

_Belle gave the queen a furious stare. Tight-lipped, she held out her hand for the inkpot. And then, she flung it full force into Regina's face._

_The queen let out a cry of shock and rage, but Belle was already springing for the window. It was a tight squeeze and a long way down; she felt her skirt tear as she got out onto the sill, but she ignored it. It was a sheer fifty feet down if it was one, but if she could just climb down far enough that the fall wouldn't kill her, Belle thought she might be able to jump the rest of the way. And then, well, she'd have to hope that if the queen had a use for her, then she'd balk at having her knights fire arrows after her._

_There were vines scaling the tower wall and she grasped them, thankful for the handholds. And then, she felt them coil tightly about her wrists, binding them fast. Another vine wrapped about her ankles. Belle struggled, but the plant had already come partly away from the wall and it raised her higher, back toward the window she'd just escaped from, back into the tower cell._

_The vines released her and she fell, sprawling on her knees before the queen, who looked down upon her grimly, no trace of ink on her face or clothing. "That was foolish of you, dear," she said tightly. "I'd been coming to tell you that the pleas and protests that you made when you accepted my hospitality hadn't fallen on completely deaf ears. I was considering offering you another chance. Unfortunately, after your actions today, I'm afraid you've squandered that opportunity."_

_"When Rumple finds out—" Belle started to say, but Regina silenced her with a wave of her hand._

_"When your father finds out. When Rumple finds out. You might be able to save an enchanted prince, but you're rather useless at saving yourself, aren't you? In any event," Regina continued matter-of-factly, "Rumple_ isn't _going to find out. And neither is your father. You'll be remaining here as my guest for the foreseeable future. And," she smiled as metal shackles closed about Belle's wrists and ankles, "be assured, I'm foreseeing a rather far off future."_

_Belle sprang up from the floor, then stumbled and sank to her knees again as a chain sprouted between her ankle shackles, linking them closely together. As she braced her hands on the floor to attempt to rise once more, a second chain fastened itself to each of her wrist shackles. A third, longer chain connected to one of the links of the ankle chain, its other end bound to a metal ring set in the stone wall beneath her sleeping shelf._

_"You'll find you've length enough to reach the commode," Regina smiled. "And the door. The guards will be ordered to bring you your meals daily, though if you prove as recalcitrant with them as you've been with me, I'll allow them to exercise their discretion about whether it's safe for them to come within reach of you. So I trust you'll be suitably docile when you receive them." She tilted her head. "Clear enough?" she asked pleasantly._

_A stream of bitter invective streamed from her captive's mouth and the queen laughed._

_"It's plain your parents never taught you proper deportment. Or did you learn such language during your… time on the road with Claude?" A hint of steel crept into her tone. "I'd curb that tongue if I were you, dear. Particularly when addressing a queen. Or you're just liable to lose it." She turned on her heel._

_"I think you should take a day or two to reflect in solitude on your behavior. Consider whether such rebelliousness is truly in your best interest. Yes, I'll see to it that, for the next forty-eight hours, you won't be distracted by such mundanities as food or drink, nor disturbed by myself or my guards, for any reason. And if you persist in your recalcitrance, I can always give you more time." Her smile never dimmed. "I can afford to be patient, dear. And I'll give you time to cultivate that trait for yourself."_

_She swept out of the cell, her eyebrows climbing ever-so-slightly as her captive released a new string of curses—delightfully inventive ones at that—after her._

* * *

Regina winced a bit at the memory. Belle might, _might_ have forgiven her for that incident recently; Regina had been telling the truth when she'd admitted to Rumple that she wasn't certain her apology had been accepted, but the librarian hadn't received today's new information with anything approaching the equanimity she'd shown that other time.

On the one hand, Regina could scarcely blame her. On the other, hand, wasn't Good supposed to be more forgiving than this?

Regina shook her head. Tea definitely wasn't going to be enough. She made her way to the liquor cabinet and returned with two bottles. She was still shaking her head as she removed the teabag from her mug and added a shot of bourbon and a splash of her homemade apple cider. Then she went into the kitchen for a lemon.

She sucked in her breath. She was feeling sorry for herself, and as miserable as she was, she could recognize the thin ice on which she was treading. Trying to do the right thing and getting a slap in the face from Fate for her trouble was a recipe for more than the drink she was making in her living room. She was practically inviting her worst self to a pity party. And that… that was _not_ a good idea. Not after all this time. Not when giving in to _her_ worst self might result in something somewhat more serious than some hurt feelings on the part of the object of her wrath. And, Regina let out a heavy sigh, then took another deep breath, and she could hardly say that Belle didn't have a right to be angry. Or an obligation to accept an apology as though it could resolve the real problem.

Some deeds were just too egregious to be brushed off simply because the doer now regretted them.

Regret. Regina sniffed with a bitter smile. She'd finally begun doing more of that. And it really didn't have much to recommend it. But unless she wanted to have more to regret this evening, she needed to enact certain safeguards.

So, she reached into her pocket for her phone and punched in a number. "Robin! I… was wondering whether you'd care to join me in a nightcap. Have you ever had an apple cider hot toddy? Well, bring Roland, too, then. Henry's with Emma tonight; Roland can sleep in his room." She smiled. "I'll see you soon."

No, she wasn't about to sob on anyone's shoulder or rant on about the unfairness of the world. She didn't have to. She just needed someone here with her tonight who knew both the woman she had been and the woman she was today. And, if she did feel like opening up after a toddy or two…

…She suspected that Robin wouldn't judge her nearly as harshly.

Or at all.

* * *

Reul Ghorm was disturbed. For a number of weeks, there had been an unidentifiable 'something' in the air of the convent. At first, she'd told herself that after spending so many hours on the hospital's lowest level and returning home mainly to sleep, she'd simply grown unused to the normal routine. Her hours with Zelena had consisted of stony silence, punctuated by venomous invective and the odd chicken squawk. Of course the buzz of more genial conversation would sound strange to her now.

But gradually, she was coming to realize that it was more than that. The hum of conversation seemed to die down as she drew near—and it wasn't (as she'd initially assumed) because the discussion was dealing with the sort of frivolities she outwardly frowned upon but inwardly indulged. It did no harm for the novices to speculate on the personalities of the children that they might one day be assigned to as godmothers, nor the adepts to compare notes on how their charges had turned out. She couldn't say that she approved when the discussion turned to whether those charges remained appreciative or, in the course of time, seemed to forget the gifts their godmothers had bestowed. Good didn't expect gratitude, after all. Still, she didn't see the harm or the need to interject her own comments. Particularly since her mere presence generally served to remind the speakers to moderate their words and temper their judgments.

The quiet that heralded her approaches now, though, was of a different flavor. It was almost… disrespectful. Reul allowed that they might have learned of her earlier missteps. Snow was a dear friend, but even as a child, she'd rarely been discreet in speech or deed. And despite her lessons in diplomacy and statesmanship, Snow might never have been taught of the impropriety of discussing a fairy's actions with those of lower rank. Reul tried to curb her disappointment. This would pass.

"And Merry won't reconsider? Even after—?"

The whisperer was cut off in mid-sentence by another, slightly louder voice. "Shush! She'll hear!"

"Well, I wasn't saying anything wrong. I just thought, after everything Blue's done, Merryweather might've given some reason for—"

"Oh, please!" A new voice snapped. "She never explains anything!"

"I just think it wouldn't be so terrible if things changed around here, that's all."

"They _are_ changing," the second speaker said ominously.

"I know." It was the third voice again. "It hasn't even been two days and it already feels like most of the life's been sucked out of this place."

"Yes," the first voice sighed. "I miss Astrid, too."

"Since Blue came back full-time, she was the only thing that made life here bearable." Nobody answered the second speaker and, after a moment, she added more wistfully, "I almost wish Merry hadn't stepped in."

"Blue told her to," the first voice protested.

"I know. I'm not saying she had a choice. But if she'd never stepped in, we'd never have realized how much _better_ things could be and now, well, Blue's back and without Astrid, it's going to be so much worse!" Then, anxiously, "She's still at the hospital, right? I mean, she's not listening?"

"I don't…" The third speaker suddenly sounded nervous.

There was a whispered conversation, too low for Reul to make out the words, but from the tone they were arguing about whether one of them ought to check. Check whether she was nearby, Reul realized, with a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach. She ought to sail around that corner and confront those three gossips. She ought to remind them of their place in the hierarchy and that if any of them wished to contest her authority, then they were more than welcome to issue a formal challenge. She ought to tower over them with righteous indignation, instead of using a transformation spell to turn herself into a starling and soar out the open window as hesitant footsteps drew near.

They didn't want her. And from the sound of things, they never had.

Reul headed for the woods. She needed someplace quiet to collect herself. And to think.

* * *

"Everything okay?" Astrid asked, as Belle shut the apartment door with a bit more force than was warranted and stepped out of her shoes, trying not to bristle at the fairy's start of surprise.

Belle misread the reason for it. "Fine," she snapped. "I'm short. Deal with it."

Astrid blinked at the ire in Belle's voice. Then she shrugged. "I'm only five-seven when I get _big_. Back in our land, I spent most of my time at seven-five. Inches, I mean."

"Oh." Suddenly five-one-and-a-half didn't sound so bad. Belle sighed. "I'm sorry, Astrid. It's just… been a long day. And I still have to do those exercises before tomorrow's class."

So saying, she moved toward the center of the rug in the common area, pushed the coffee table to one side—but close enough to Astrid for the fairy to reach the bowl of grapes she'd been snacking on, and began on the hundred squats. She did ten before she began to feel the strain. At fifteen, she saw Astrid looking at her as though she had something on her mind. "What?" she asked somewhat testily.

"I was just thinking," Astrid said. "The squats and sit-ups… they don't target the same muscles, do they?"

Belle shook her head. "No," she said sinking into her sixteenth squat. "Why?"

"Well, maybe it would be easier if you switched back and forth. Like maybe ten squats and then ten sit-ups. So your legs get a chance to rest while you're working your stomach and then your stomach can rest while—"

"Got it," Belle cut her off. Then she smiled apologetically. It really was a good idea. "I'm sorry, Astrid. It's just been a…"

"…Long day," the fairy smiled. "You said."

"I did, didn't I?" Belle sighed. "I'll do twenty," she added, half-talking to herself. "Then twenty sit-ups. And then, I'll see if I want to keep that number or switch after ten for the rest, like you suggested." She let out a breath. "I'm sorry," she said again. "I found out a few things I wish I hadn't and I guess I got angry and I took it out on you."

"I thought it might be something like that," Astrid admitted. "I mean, I know I can be clumsy and mess things up, but I've been on my best behave—OH!" The bowl tumbled from the edge of the coffee table, spilling out its fruit. "Sorry!" she gasped. "I made sure to use a wooden one so it wouldn't shatter, but your food…"

"It's okay," Belle said, starting forward, but the fairy waved her off.

"I'll just…" A pink cloud engulfed the grapes, lifting them back into the bowl. For a moment, they seemed almost to sparkle. "There," Astrid said. "They're clean again. No point wasting good food."

Belle would have just rinsed them. Back in the Enchanted Forest, even in the castles of the aristocracy, food was seldom plentiful enough to let things go to waste simply because they fell on a relatively-clean floor. Particularly during the months when they'd been besieged by the ogre armies and their stores had dwindled. "Thanks." She finished her first twenty squats and got into position for the sit-ups.

"I just… I guess I learned a few truths I didn't know before and I'm dealing." Briefly, she began outlining the basics of the animosity between Rumple and her father.

She hadn't even gotten to the fuel Regina had poured on _those_ flames, before Astrid was shaking her head sympathetically. "So, your father and your husband… and you're caught in the middle."

Belle grunted. "Well," she panted, as she came up, "not really." She sank back down to the floor. "I mean," she puffed, "no more… than I have been before." _Talk as you come up; that's when you're supposed to exhale._ "Maybe… even less."

"Then…?"

Belle didn't say anything until she finished the set. Then, instead of starting another set of squats, she lay back for a moment, and then turned on her side to look at Astrid. "Have you ever," she said slowly, "done something stupid and not realized how stupid it was until it all blew up in your face, and then promised yourself you'd never do anything like that again if you could only have another chance… and then…" She shook her head. "Then something happened that made you think that you ought to do something only you're afraid it's the same stupid thing it was before and you don't want to squander your second chance, but you still want to say something, but you're not sure what you can say that won't be taken wrong by the person you hurt most the last time?"

Astrid blinked. "Sorry?"

Belle sighed. "I've been hearing that word a lot today." She joined Astrid on the sofa. "You see, after my father called on me last night, I thought I needed answers I wouldn't get from Rumple. So, I decided to talk to Regina and…"

* * *

Under the cotton-wool striped hospital blanket, concealed from the security cameras, Billina pecked at the leather cuff on her mistress's wrist. Zelena wondered whether this time, the chicken would be able to get the thing off, but she was fast losing hope.

"Come on, beautiful one," she coaxed. "Just see if you can peck it off."

The witch sighed. Chickens were generally written off as creatures of limited intellect, but Zelena knew that the reality was quite different. Back in her apartment, Billina had quickly learned where the chicken feed was kept and, more astonishingly, where the key to the locked cabinet was kept. Even more astonishingly, when Zelena had placed the key on a key-ring and the key-ring in a drawer in her bureau, Billina had not only known which drawer it was in, but—when an amused Zelena had indulgently withdrawn it and dangled it before her former-nanny-turned-pet—immediately lunged for the proper key.

"We've both been underestimated by people without the sense to know better," the witch said grimly. "Perhaps we shall be again."

She closed her eyes and tried to think, smiling a bit when she felt a slight tug at the cuff that meant Billina was after her treat again. Maybe she was going about this wrong. Maybe there was another way. She let her mind drift back to a happier time. A time when she'd just begun to set her plan in motion…

* * *

 _"So, just how_ did _you die, Rumple?" she asked, peering at him through the bars of his cage._

_The Dark One never paused in his spinning. "What could I do? The blade was true."_

_"Blade?" Zelena thrust the dagger toward him and he flinched. "This one?"_

_Eyes wider, focusing on her for the first time, he nodded._

_"But whoever kills the Dark One_ becomes _the Dark One. And yet… here you are. How?"_

_Rumple blinked in confusion. Then a canny gleam appeared in his brown eyes and a high-pitched giggle escaped him. "How?" he parroted. "How? But you just said it!"_

_She couldn't abide being mocked. A twist of the weapon in her hand had Rumple doubled over in pain and tumbling from his stool._

_"Tell me!" she commanded._

_"I… did…" he whimpered. "Or you did. You did, you did you did, you did…" His voice died away into a senseless mumble._

_Zelena released an inarticulate cry of exasperation. She'd never get anything out of him when he was like this. And… had he just somehow defied an order? No. She'd used the dagger; he couldn't disobey. So, either his mind was so far gone that he couldn't reply coherently, or… Her eyes grew wide as an explanation suggested itself. She waited for his prattle to cease and for him to resume his spinning, before she demanded, "You stabbed_ yourself _?"_

_"And became myself," he giggled. "So… necessary. So right. So right you are."_

_"Why?"_

_His spinning stopped and the confusion was back on his face, but Zelena waited patiently now. Rumple had his lucid moments. He would answer. But too much badgering, she could see, made those moments fewer and far between. Finally, a breath escaped him. "Pan."_

_"What…" Zelena said, feeling some confusion of her own. "_ Peter _Pan? Neverland? What connection do you have with him or that place?"_

* * *

It took a significant amount of time and a good deal more fortitude than Zelena had known she'd possessed, but she'd eventually gotten the story out him. Everything from his father rejecting him as a child to their final confrontation. At the time, she'd found the idea of the magic-cancelling cuffs interesting in a theoretical sense, but not something she'd felt a need to study in depth. She'd had other things on her mind then, like creating a working time travel spell and monitoring Snow White's pregnancy. To say nothing of her efforts to neutralize the savior. But now… Now, might be time to address that gap in her education.

Pan had been able to remove the cuff. She had to remember that. If he'd been able to get out of it, than it could be done. Yes, he'd created the thing, but crafting workable loopholes in such artifacts typically required only slightly less effort than fashioning the artifacts themselves.

"If he could do it, so can I," she gritted. And since he _had_ , the question wasn't 'if,' but _how_.

"I created a time-travel spell," she reminded herself. "Something else that wasn't supposed to be possible. This ought to be easy in comparison."

She felt another slight tug on the cuff, peered under her blanket, and smiled at the chicken. "And meanwhile, Billina, you keep on trying, too."

* * *

Astrid shook her head when Belle was finished. "No wonder you're angry," she said. "I would be, too. I mean, I was when I found out how Blue manipulated me and Leroy. Even if it was all so long ago, it felt new to me, since I was only just hearing of it."

Belle nodded. "It's not just that, though. It's…" She shook her head, thinking better of what she'd been about to say.

"Belle?"

She forced a smile. "Nothing. I'm being silly. Or overreacting. Or…" Abruptly she got up from the sofa and started another set of squats, forgetting that she'd meant to switch to sit-ups. As nice as it was to have someone sympathetic to talk with, Belle had the feeling that the fairy wouldn't be half so understanding if she knew how truly… _unheroic_ Belle's thoughts were at the moment. Good didn't seek vengeance. Good didn't keep grudges. So, why did Belle feel, not just as though she'd never forgive Regina, but that she didn't want anyone else to either?

 _Regina had helped Rumple_ , she reminded herself. Not just in Neverland, when Pan's shadow had taken on her own likeness to try to trick Rumple into giving up on saving Henry. Not just by beating Zelena—even if that had been as much to save her own skin. No, she'd stood with Rumple against Belle's own father, even gone so far as to help him prepare for the confrontation. So, Belle didn't see how she could demand that Rumple now cut all ties with Regina, because of what she'd done to both of them in the past. Clearly, he'd moved on from that time. She was the one still stuck back there. Probably because, as Astrid had just put it, learning the truth now, made it all feel more recent than it actually was.

Rumple had never expected her to break off her friendly overtures toward Snow and David, even though they had imprisoned him in an underground cell for months and never seemed to spare a thought for him when they didn't need something from him first.

So why did Belle feel so… wronged, knowing that Rumple wasn't likely to abandon his association with Regina?

_I suppose I'm being small and petty and self-centered again. And I can't let anyone know. They all think I'm hero material and they'd be so disappointed if they learned the truth. But if I keep acting like the hero they all believe I can be, then someday, I know I will be. True, I'm not there yet, but it's not as though anyone needs to know that but me. Do the brave thing and bravery will follow. Do the heroic thing and heroism will follow. Do the selfless thing and…_

She was actually smiling, however slightly, as she finished her twentieth squat and started in on a set of sit-ups.

* * *

_Great Neck, Long Island. Wednesday, 8:15PM_

Ursula sniffed the air in the darkened restaurant with a frown. Lily turned to her with a puzzled look.

"Something wrong? Oh. That's fried shrimp, right? Nobody you… knew?"

Ursula made a scoffing sound. "You don't honestly think I ate nothing but seaweed under the sea, do you? No, that's not it. I was just thinking; even back in our land—your land and mine, I mean; she's from a different one—I never once saw Cruella without a lit cigarette in a silver holder. Normally, I'd say to just follow the combination of gin and tobacco, but with the current anti-smoking bylaws, that's not going to happen here."

"So…"

Ursula sighed. "So, we look around and hope we can spot—" All at once, she seized Lily's arm in a tight grip with one hand and gestured toward the mirrored wall with the other.

Lily stiffened at once and started to reach into her pocket with her free hand, but she remembered where she was and who she was with before her fingers curled around the container of mace. "I told you not to touch me," she said evenly. Then she saw where Ursula was pointing.

A woman in a filmy sleeveless gown that practically dripped with sequins was draped over the torso of a man who must have been about ten years her junior. She wore a silver fox stole across her shoulders and a beaded, ostrich-plumed headdress atop hair that was white on one side and jet black on the other. Bangles glittered and sparkled on her bony wrists and forearms and, when she turned her profile slightly, Lily could see that she wore a rope of pearls that probably reached her navel when she stood upright. Whether the woman was _capable_ of standing upright at the moment was open to conjecture as she practically oozed over her drinking companion. The Copa glass on the table before her was half-full of some clear liquid with pieces of lemon rind and a round ice cube reposing inside.

Lily blinked. "Are you telling me that…?"

"Yup," Ursula nodded. "That's Cruella De Vil. In the flesh and fur."


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thornton Wilder's _The Matchmaker_ (published in 1954) was reincarnated as the musical _Hello Dolly!_ a decade later. Those familiar with the latter will probably notice that the plot and character names are substantially the same, but certain scenes and lines that will be important later in this fic were exclusive to the Wilder play and not used in the musical adaptation.

**Chapter Nine**

Lily wanted to look away, but morbid fascination compelled her to stare. Cruella seemed intent on drinking herself into a stupor while abasing herself climbing over the man seated next to her. He seemed slightly more sober than she did, at least enough to hastily plunge one hand in his pocket. When he withdrew it, Lily could see that the band of gold that had glinted on his finger a moment before was no longer present.

"Clearly," Ursula murmured, "that is _not_ her husband out on bail."

So she'd seen it too. Lily shook her head. "What do we do?"

"You still want her?" Ursula asked.

Lily sucked in a breath. "Want? No. Need? Yes."

Ursula sighed. "All right. We need to get her sober or they'll kick us off the train when we try to get back to the hotel."

"Still can't believe we found a place for ten bucks a night," Lily muttered. "And it's not even a dump!"

Ursula smiled. "Never discount the deep-discount websites. Even if Long Island City is a _few_ stops away from Great Neck."

"Still closer than Manhattan."

"But not close enough if she's going to be like _that_ ," Ursula gestured toward Cruella, who was now stretched across her boyfriend's lap, her arms locked about his neck as she drew him down for a kiss. She sighed. "All right. Order some fruit juice; orange, cranberry, apple, whatever. For her. It'll help her get the booze out of her system faster. We'll follow up with coffee. And then," she sighed, "we'll go for a walk in the brisk winter air. Between the temperature and the exercise, we'll get her coherent." She sighed. "Even if she'll still have to sleep most of it off."

"How do you know this stuff?" Lily asked.

Ursula gave her a sad smile. "I don't know if you noticed, kid, but my life isn't great and it hasn't been for some time. You do what you do to cope, and you do what you do to function after you… cope."

"I hear you," Lily started to say, but the sea witch was already moving off in Cruella's direction. She took a seat at the bar and waited for the bartender to notice.

A moment later, she heard a deep contralto voice exclaim in tones that carried clear across the room, "Ursula! Dahhhhhhhhling! Whatever brings you here?" The question was followed almost at once by a most unladylike belch and a muted thud, as the woman slid off of her companion and landed on the floor.

* * *

"For someone who's not much more than skin and bones," Lily muttered, "she's pretty danged heavy."

"It's her greed," Ursula deadpanned. "Combined with her ego, it must weigh more than she does by now." Both she and Lily had their arms around Cruella, supporting her back, while she had one arm draped over each woman's shoulder.

"Where are you taking me?" Cruella mumbled.

"Back to Long Island; we're staying in a hotel for the night," Lily said.

"And we're ankling it?" Cruella demanded, sounding a lot more alert—and outraged.

"Just to the train station," Ursula said reassuringly. "It's not far."

"You booked us a first class compartment, I hope?"

Ursula snorted at that. "First class, last class, no class… it's a subway, not the Orient Express."

Cruella stopped abruptly in her tracks. "You don't mean for us to sit in a _public_ car with the riffraff?"

Lily gave her a hard look. "Well, unless you want to pawn that Swarovski crown you're wearing—"

"I'll have you know that this _tiara_ boasts the finest blood dia—"

"Not so loud!" Ursula hissed. "People will hear! And the kid's got a point. We're doing this on a budget, so if the transportation's not to your liking, cough up some cash."

"I'll do better than that, dahling," Cruella sniffed. "Take a left here. It should be about thirty feet away."

"What should?" Lily asked, steering Cruella in the direction indicated after Ursula nodded assent.

"Here we are!" Cruella sang a few moments later, lurching out of the women's grasps to fling her arms about the windshield and driver-side window of a black-and-white Zimmer Golden Spirit that was parked in a handicap zone. She removed the citation on her windshield with a snort, balled it up, and tossed it on the sidewalk. "Pile in, girls," she added, getting into the driver's seat.

"Uh, Cruella dear," Ursula said, "I'm not about to let you get behind the wheel in your condition."

"Oh, please!" the other woman retorted. "It's not as though I'm half seas over; I'm just a little tipsy is all."

"Just a little _too_ tipsy. C'mon. Give me the keys."

"You'll have to pry them from my cold, dead, fingers!"

"No we won't," Lily snapped, shoving Cruella roughly over onto the passenger side. Cruella started to surge back. Then she hastily opened the window hung her head out, and retched. Lily rolled her eyes in Ursula's direction. "Wonderful," she muttered, as Cruella slid down the interior car door and slumped sideways in the passenger seat, seemingly passed out. "You think you can get her into the back?"

"Yeah," Ursula said, "but if she comes to when I try to get the keys off her, I know from experience that she fights like a cougar."

"Yeah, I noticed she seemed a bit cougarish back in the restaurant," Lily said dryly. "But don't worry about it." She pulled a screwdriver out of her jacket pocket and held it to one of the screws in the steering column. "Keys might be helpful, but they aren't really necessary…"

* * *

"You first," Nicholas nudged Henry. "You're the one who wants to be a hero."

Henry tilted his head quizzically toward his friend. "What's heroic about checking a cast list?"

"Requires courage," Nicholas shot back. "If you can't even check if your name's on a piece of paper, how're you going to face down a witch who wants to turn you into a pot roast?"

Henry blinked. "Wait. I never had to do that; you did. So you ought to be able to go and read that list."

"I didn't," Nicholas said, studying his shoes. "I froze up. Ava did the work. Hey! Maybe you could ask her!"

"Ava?" Henry was positive that the stammer in his voice was too slight for his friend to have noticed. During the year he'd spent in New York, both he and the Zimmer twins had done some growing up. Ava, however, seemed to have grown up in rather… interesting ways. Not to mention more conventional ones; she was more than a head taller than Henry. She was power forward on the girls' basketball team and seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time with a certain center on the boys' team. While she was pleasant enough to Henry when Nicholas invited him over, it was clear that she saw him as 'her brother's friend' and not much else. And any time that Henry tried to approach her and suggest that maybe he could be a bit more than that if she'd give him a chance, everything he wanted to say to her flew clean out of his head and he was lucky if he could smile and murmur some pleasantry before beating a dignified retreat. "She's your sister. You ask her!"

"No way. She doesn't even know I tried out!"

"What?"

Nicholas shrugged. "I get tired of hearing about how great she is on the court. That's why I decided to go to the auditions; I thought maybe acting could be my… thing. If I get a part, I'll tell her. Otherwise, she doesn't have to find out I tried for it. If I ask her to check and my name's not on the cast list, she'll know I did."

Henry winced. It was a cast list, not his teenaged great-grandfather and a pack of homicidal youth. There was nothing to be nervous about. He hadn't even really _wanted_ to try out for a part, but he didn't want to be rejected for one either!

"Hey, guys! Isn't it great?"

The two turned as one to see Grace Hatter bouncing up to them, the dangling beads on her ponytail elastic providing a neat counterpoint to her step.

"Isn't what great?" Nicholas asked.

"You didn't see? We all made the cut!" she waved toward the cast list on the bulletin board. "I'm playing Ermengarde," she pointed to Nicholas, "you got Barnaby, and," she turned to Henry, "you're Cornelius! I have to call my papa before lunch is over and tell him! See you!"

She bounced off again. The boys watched her go. "Barnaby?" Henry said, turning to Nicholas.

"Cornelius?" Nicholas returned.

Henry exhaled, partly from relief and partly from resignation. "Looks like we're going to be working together for a while."

"So what else is new?" Nicholas grinned. "Barnaby…"

Henry grinned back. "Cornelius…"

* * *

Zelena was not having a good day. Which was scarcely surprising; she couldn't say she'd had a good day since she'd come home from the clinic, eager to tell Robin that she was with child—and gently insinuate in his head the idea that, perhaps, Emma would be able to bring them back to Storybrooke so she could rub Regina's nose in it—only to find that Regina had arrived, blown her cover, collected Robin and Roland, and were already on their way back to Maine.

She might have stuck things out on her own. She'd never considered herself the mothering type, but the idea of producing an individual that would seek to obey her and please her, not from fear, but from love had a certain appeal. Then the eviction notice had been shoved under the door. Robin had taken everything remaining from the funds Regina had given them weeks earlier to help them get settled in the world outside Storybrooke, and Zelena had panicked.

She blamed pregnancy hormones for that. Yes, someone—Emma, Regina, she didn't know who—had created a criminal record for her that rendered her virtually unemployable, and the idea of working some entry-level job right when she knew she could look forward to more bouts of morning sickness like the ones that had sent her to the clinic in first place, certainly hadn't appealed. But what had possessed her to reach out to Emma, pleading almost-hysterically for assistance? Yes, she was alone, afraid, and—apart from the glamor charm she used to disguise her appearance and a few other small bits of magic—virtually powerless, but she had her pride. Or at least, she'd thought she did.

So now, here she was, still alone, still powerless, and still—deep down in heart of hearts—afraid. Afraid that once her baby was born, it would be taken from her and she'd never see it again. Afraid that Regina truly meant to keep her shut away down here for the rest of her days. Afraid that the damned cuff would never come off. Afraid. And hating herself for it.

The door opened without warning and a familiar figure in blue and gray serge stepped inside, a determined look in her steely blue eyes.

Perfect. Someone else to hate. Zelena felt her lips curl in a sneer as she practically spat out, "What do _you_ want?"

* * *

The woods had been tranquil and it had been too long since Blue had taken pause there to refresh her spirit. When she'd believed herself to be a nun, she'd had ample time for study and reflection, both in the convent and out in nature. Since regaining her memories after the first curse broke, she'd had little time for introspection. The return of fairy crystals to the dwarf mines, the logistics involved in processing the crystals to dust, overseeing classes for the novices, learning the names, locations, and needs of the fairy godchildren and how best to attend to them in this new land where magic wasn't necessarily the first recourse… all of these responsibilities had weighed heavily on her. Priorities had needed to be set, items of lesser importance set aside; that was always how things were done.

The fairies had still been whispering on her return. Not the same ones she'd heard earlier—at least, she didn't believe so, but the overall sentiments had been similar. They preferred Merryweather's brand of leadership to hers. They missed Astrid.

_"Do you think we ought to approach her? Tell her how we feel? Maybe she'd listen?"_

_"I'm sure she would. But do something about it? She's got_ other _priorities."_

_"In other words, if she can't resolve the situation within the lifecycle of a fruit fly, she'll throw up her hands and grab some task she_ can _handle. Merryweather might not always know what to do, but at least, she's never afraid to wade in and try!"_

The others had laughed, but not with the merry giggles Blue was used to hearing from some of the younger, more frivolous sorts. This mirth had a cynical, mocking edge to it that cut her deeply. But there had also been a painful ring of truth to it. They did see her that way. And, as much as she wanted to console herself by believing that they simply didn't understand how many duties she needed to perform or oversee, she couldn't help but notice that Snow White had voiced a similar criticism, and before her, Pinocchio.

_"If one person calls you a satyr, you may laugh it off. If a second echoes the comment, take heed. If a third, consider learning to pipe."_

Her own instructor had imparted that advice in a manner so straight-faced that Blue and her fellow-novices had never quite been certain whether she'd been joking. Thinking back now, Blue rather suspected she'd been serious.

"Tasks must be prioritized," she told herself firmly. "But, perhaps, I _have_ been using those priorities to effectively shield myself from duties I'd rather not perform." It occurred to her that if her novices and acolytes were as dissatisfied with her as their overheard conversations would have her believe, it might only be a matter of time before she would be 'shielded' from needing to perform _any_ duties. Right now, they seemed to be rallying about Merryweather, but if Merry persisted in her—quite admirable—loyalty, then if steps weren't taken now, the other fairies were apt to consider another candidate, perhaps one far less able.

She didn't care about power or authority; not really. But she did care about the disaster that a less-capable leader might precipitate. Perhaps, if the others observed that she _was_ prepared to devote her time and care to a difficult case, they would reconsider their distaste for her administration. She considered. Pinocchio no longer required her guidance. Neither did Snow; not that she'd asked for it in quite some time. Rumpelstiltskin… well. There was too much history between them now for things to ever move beyond icy civility.

Another name loomed large in her mind and, at first, she shied away from it. Really, she'd had no dealings with the witch before Snow had requested that Blue attempt to rehabilitate her. She shook her head. Zelena's well-being should never have fallen under the jurisdiction of any fairy, particularly not herself. They helped the _pure_ of heart. Besides, she had no history with Oz; she had her hands full with the former denizens of the Enchanted Forest.

_You balk at assisting Rumple because you have too much history. You think to refuse Zelena because you have too little. Are you looking for someone suitable to help, or are you looking for excuses_ not _to?_

Blue sucked in her breath. She _had_ failed Rumpelstiltskin. She'd failed August. Perhaps, if she put forth some genuine effort this time, she might not fail with Zelena. Perhaps, a second chance _was_ warranted. And, she reflected, she wasn't entirely certain whether it was she, or Zelena, who might need it more.

* * *

Zelena regarded her guest now and snorted derisively. "I thought I sent you packing the last time."

The Blue Fairy tilted her chin upwards. There were two red spots of color on her cheeks—and Zelena hadn't even slapped her this time—but there was something less imperious about the set of her eyes. And perhaps her nostrils didn't flare quite so much. "You did," she replied with a calm that infuriated the witch. "I thought we might try again."

"You mean… you're offering me a second chance," Zelena stated. Had the fairy not known better, she might have missed the veiled touch of sarcasm in her words. "Is my sister still on her rehabilitation mission, or is it Snow White I'll need to hold accountable for this intrusion?"

The fairy glanced about the cell, taking in its drabness. "Goodness," she murmured, "is this all you have with which to pass the time? Some outdated magazines and," she eyed the floor with distaste, "a messy barnyard fowl?"

"Are you insulting Billina?" the witch asked, with a cold glitter in her eye.

"Of course not. Still," the fairy continued primly, "I don't imagine that the state of the floor is to your liking."

"So, you're housekeeping, then?" Zelena laughed. "Well, have at it! Oh. I don't have any cleaning supplies. Did you bring them? Or could you magic them? Or do you just wave your wand and it all sorts itself out?"

"It would seem to me," Blue remarked coolly, "that you're currently suffering from a lack of options."

"Have you been filching Doctor Hopper's psychology books, or do you just naturally try to sound non-judgmental while you're quietly judging me?" The fairy's cheeks were practically _glowing_ red now. Zelena smirked.

Blue closed her eyes and the witch could swear that she was actually counting to ten. Well, _that_ never worked. When she opened them, though, her voice was steady. "I only meant to say that until now, you've had no option but to reside in this bird-dung-spattered cell. If I were to clean it, then that would be one more decision taken away from you." A faucet sprouted from the cell wall, trailing a green garden hose. "That color is, I believe, your preference," the fairy remarked. Next to the hose a bottle of dishwashing soap, a bristled scrub brush, a pile of sawdust, and a broom and dustpan appeared. "There," she said. "Hose down the floor, to be rid of the superficial droppings." Her gaze flicked meaningfully toward the drain in the center of the cell floor. "The detergent and brush will loosen the rest. Cover the residue with sawdust to dry; then use the broom and dustpan." A metal receptacle appeared in one corner, bolted firmly to the wall. "Dispose of it there. Or don't. From this point forward, whether you reside in squalor or not is a choice that you do have. I'll return on the morrow." The fairy smiled wryly. "And conversely, on that matter? You have no choice."

Zelena lunged forward, but the fairy had vanished before the witch could reach—and hurl—the scrub brush at her. "I'm not your newest benevolence project!" she shouted at the empty air.

Unsurprisingly she was greeted by silence.

A soft cluck drew her attention. Billina tilted her head uncertainly and the witch imagined she saw a questioning look in the hen's black, beady eyes. She shook her head. "So, this is what I've come to," she murmured. "Chambermaid to a chicken before I'm mother to a child."

Billina clucked again, somewhat disapprovingly and the witch smiled.

"Oh, it's not your fault, beautiful one." She let loose a sigh that sounded a good deal more resentful than it truly was. "I daresay after this task, even those obnoxious periodicals will seem moderately more enticing." She _didn't_ want to live in squalor. And although she did her best to squelch the feeling, for the briefest of moments, she was actually grateful to the blue gnat for giving her the means to avoid it.

* * *

There was something very wrong, Cruella realized. Although she had a splitting headache, a dry mouth, and a laser piercing her closed eyelids—or, at least, that was her first assumption, until she realized that it was sunlight—she wasn't nearly as nauseous or achy as she'd usually awakened every day since the morning that the feds had stormed into her mansion and hauled her adoring pet of a husband away in cuffs.

She'd barely managed to salvage her furs, her cars, and the few stocks and bonds certificates she'd managed to transfer to her name with nobody the wiser. Her husband hadn't kept very good track of his holdings, but his accountant had been a bloody vulture—and not the sort she exerted any power over. It had been a struggle for her to acquire the paltry assets she'd been able to secure without either man knowing, but while she was homeless, she wasn't exactly destitute. She probably could have bought some modest little dwelling in an unfashionable suburb. Perhaps, some neighborhood in Islip like Holtsville or Lake Ronkonkoma… She shuddered. There were young families there. With _children_. Loud, rambunctious little brutes who, unlike other bothersome mammals, didn't at least have luxurious pelts as a saving grace.

Besides, if she spent her nest egg on a house, it wouldn't be long before her funds ran out. And then, oh, she couldn't bear to think it. She might actually need to _work_.

No, her best plan was to find another man willing to keep her in the style to which she was accustomed. She'd been interviewing candidates nightly at Great Neck's better gin establishments, but thus far, she had yet to find anyone suitable. Certainly not the callow youth she'd been with last night, if her surroundings were any indication. Not that she'd opened her eyes to look around, but she, most assuredly, was _not_ lying on Egyptian cotton, nor even damask. This felt suspiciously like percale—and she didn't want to guess _what_ manner of fabric softener had been used to launder it. She only hoped it _had_ been laundered recently.

The sun had, apparently, passed behind a cloud during her ruminations, but now its beams stabbed again full-force and she gasped. What the hell was the sun doing on her face in the first place? Where was her eye mask?

"Ah," a sarcastic voice drawled from somewhere to her left. "So we _don't_ need to go hunting for a prince to kiss you awake. Unfortunately, they're rather sparse in these parts."

She knew that sarcastic voice. But why the hell was it so loud? Or was that still the hangover. "Ursula?" she croaked. "What are you doing here?" She turned her head away from the sunlight and forced her eyes open. Then she squeezed them shut again. "What am _I_ doing here? My kennels have better décor!" She caught herself. "Had better," she amended. "I keep forgetting. I don't suppose you've a little hair of the dog to revive my spirit, dahling?"

"I don't think we want to be reviving any spirits, _dahling_ ," Ursula snarked back. "Better we let that sleeping dog lie." Cruella heard footsteps crunch softly on a worn carpet, followed by the clink of a glass being set down on wood. "It's orange juice," the sea witch said. "Drink it. Lily went to the drugstore to pick up some Motrin and bouillon powder. The faster you replenish your sodium, the better you'll feel. Once I realized that we weren't all that far from the ocean, I was about to tell her to save her money and we'd just take you to the beach for a dip, but she was already gone."

Cruella groaned. Then, shielding her eyes, she turned her head back toward Ursula, spied the glass on the night table by the bed, and stretched her neck toward it until she could just get her lips about the bent straw. She took a cautious sip, made a face, but managed to swallow.

"This is from _concentrate_!" she protested.

"Be glad it's not Tang," Ursula shot back. "Unlike you, Lily and I haven't spent the last thirty years coiled around some sugar daddy's neck like one of your ermine collars."

"They're called stoles, dahling," Cruella retorted. A faint frown creased her bony features. "Who is this Lily, anyway?"

"Maleficent's hatchling."

"What?" Cruella sat bolt upright in bed, wincing a bit as the light hit her eyes again. "How ever did you find her?"

"She found me. And you, for that matter."

Stunned, Cruella brought a hand to her forehead and massaged her temple. "After all this time… That's rather unbelievable, isn't it?"

"Believe it."

"Well… well… Well, why is she here? What does she want?"

"Exactly what the two of us have been hoping for since we got to this magic-forsaken place," Ursula smirked. "She wants the good times back."


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

One week in and Belle still wasn't sure if the kickboxing lessons were a good thing or a bad thing. On the one hand, while she still collapsed in her chair, stiff and sore after each class, she realized that she was somewhat less stiff and less sore than she had been on the first day. Standing with the other women, facing herself in the gym's ceiling-to-floor mirror, she still felt like a bear lumbering among the sylphs—a phrase her old dance master had used to describe one of her ladies in waiting, much to the young girl's mortification. At thirteen, Belle had been furious and argued for the man's dismissal. Her parents had informed her that the decision was hardly hers to make, but she hadn't dropped the matter.

_"Dismissing him may not be my decision, father, but performing before him is. So long as you retain him to instruct me, I'll not dance a step in his presence."_

Her mother had threatened to have her miss the social season; her father to bar her from the library. That last had given Belle pause, but when she'd stormed back to her bedchamber, Genevieve—whom the dance master had so embarrassed—had clasped her hand warmly. "I'll get you books, my lady," she'd whispered, "if you'll be discreet with them. But you shouldn't have—"

"Nonsense," Belle whispered back. "He had no right to speak to you so. And besides, I can't stand the way he taps the floor with that stick of his. I know it's supposed to keep the meter, but all it does is break my focus."

In the end, her parents had relented. Oh, they hadn't dismissed the dance master, but they'd noted that after decades in his profession, it might be demanding too much of him to have him instruct all the noble youths in the castle. They'd retained him for the young men and hired an additional instructor for the young ladies. They'd also told Belle plainly that it had nothing to do with the stand she'd taken and everything to do with not overtaxing a man getting on in years, but Belle rather thought she knew better. Still, she hadn't pressed the point. She'd stood up for injustice and won.

Well. Now, nobody had to _call_ her a bear among the sylphs. She could see the truth for herself. But as inept as she looked and felt, as much as she knew she was out of step and lagging behind the others, she rather felt she wasn't lagging quite as badly as she had been that first day.

At any rate, she told herself, she'd signed up for a full ten weeks—thirty one-hour sessions. She wasn't about to quit a mere three lessons in. Especially since she did seem to feel less-inclined to punch her fist through the wall this week. Well. That or she just didn't have the energy.

She was just unlocking the library door when her father stormed up to her. She bit back a sigh. She loved him, but he did choose the worst times to drop in on her. "Good morning, Father," she said, trying not to let her dismay show. It wasn't that she wasn't happy to see him, but all she wanted to do was kick off her shoes—she ought to wear flats out on the street as well as in the class, but despite everything, she was still self-conscious about her height—and sink into her armchair and not give a hang if her ankles were crossed or her hands folded demurely in her lap as she'd been taught.

Her father barely waited for the greeting to pass her lips before he began ranting. "She's gone the bloody limit, she has! First she locks you away, then she sets me up for a beating, and now she's after my livelihood! This could ruin me, I tell you!"

Belle froze, one hand still on the key in the library door's lock. "Father," she said, fighting to remain calm, "what are you talking about?"

* * *

Less than a half an hour later, Belle did collapse in that armchair, her thoughts whirling madly in her head. Regina. Again, Regina. It seemed that the flower beds outside the Storybrooke Town Hall were provided for out of her father's merchandise every year. And this year, Regina had informed him that they would not be placing the customary order. Which, Belle tried to tell herself, was just so typical of Regina. She was so quick to punish those who thwarted her, always had been. From the moment that Belle had met her on the road from Rumple's castle, the Evil Queen had brought down misery, both on Belle herself and on her father. And now, because Belle had finally turned around and given the queen a piece of her mind, she was retaliating again.

_Wait. The other day, when Regina and Rumple went together to…_

Belle brought her hand to the center of her forehead. "I'm doing it again," she muttered. "It's not all about me." No. She probably had nothing to do with any of this. _Unimportant… useless… inconsequential…_ This wasn't about Belle not accepting Regina's apology; this was about her father not accepting _Rumple's_.

And that… complicated matters. Because, since Belle no longer wanted to be on speaking terms with Regina, she'd been planning to talk to Rumple about intervening on Moe's behalf. True, after his last encounter with her father, Rumple had no real reason to step in, but she could have suggested that his actions now might have a greater effect than his words the other day. But if Regina was acting against her father out of support and solidarity…

"It's more than I ever did," she whispered. She'd always loved Rumple, but until that afternoon at the town line when, upon learning that Zelena had thrown her husband off of an embankment, Father had intimated that things might have been better all around if the attack had been fatal, she'd never spoken up for him. Maybe she'd never joined in when the heroes condemned him, but she certainly hadn't shown him any public backing.

And now that Regina was taking up his cause, how could Belle expect him to ask her to stand down? It wasn't just that her father had thrown Rumple's conciliatory words back in his face. It was that, from what Rumple and Regina had each told her—and Father certainly hadn't said anything to the contrary—Rumple had _rehearsed_. He'd planned. He'd put real thought into how to set things right. And her father had thrown it back in his face. On the one hand, she understood. Some wrongs were just too great to be put right by an apology and if she wasn't ready to forgive Regina, she couldn't really blame her father for not forgiving Rumple. But it would have been so much better if he had.

And now, Belle was caught in the middle, somewhere between loving wife and dutiful daughter, half-wanting to step in and arrange some sort of peaceful compromise, half-wanting to barricade herself in the library and curl up with a good book. But heroes didn't do that. They fought for what was right. They supported their friends. They were there for one another.

"Why isn't anyone ever there for me?" she demanded aloud.

She was startled when a slightly-nasal voice spoke up from the direction of the kitchen. "Belle?"

* * *

"All right, kid," Ursula said, draining her cup of coffee and reaching for the pot. Cruella snatched it up and poured a cup for herself. When she set it down again and Ursula grasped it, she made an annoyed sound. The pot was empty. "What's your plan?"

"I can put more to brew," Lily offered.

"It's fine," Ursula said. "Plan?"

Lily hesitated. "It's not fully-formed, yet," she admitted with some slight embarrassment, "but the broad strokes are there." Briefly, for Cruella's elucidation, she repeated her history, from her adoption, through to her meeting with the old man on the bus. When she pulled out the book, Cruella examined it with interest at first, but then shoved it back with disgust.

"I know the camera's supposed to add fifteen pounds, but really, I'd have hoped the illustrator would've been more accurate!"

"He was," Ursula remarked dryly. "I think that sketch must've been drawn around the time you discovered marchpane and fritters."

"Well," Cruella smirked, "at least I managed to undo _that_ damage rather quickly. Tapeworms can be so helpful."

"Uh… TMI, here?" Lily interjected, not bothering to hide her disgust.

"Yeah, really," Ursula chimed in. "Just talking about those things is enough to make me lose my appetite."

"See, dahling? They work!" Cruella nodded in Lily's direction.

Lily rolled her eyes and decided to get back on point. "Okay," she huffed. "From what the old man told me, when the curse brought everyone over from the Enchanted Forest, it created a town for them and put a protection spell around the place so outsiders wouldn't be able to enter it. I… don't know how it works if you're just walking down the road and cross over the line—"

"You don't notice anything out of the ordinary," Ursula cut in. "As far as you're concerned, you just see whatever would be there if the town weren't; probably forest and beaches in that part of the world, I'd think. And the _best_ protection spells have a sort of extra precaution worked in. The closer you get to the area of effect, the less interesting the whole thing seems. You begin to think that continuing on in that direction is pointless. There's nothing there. There's never been anything there. You're already so far off the beaten track, how much further do you really want to press on before you admit you're just being stubborn?" She shrugged. "A skilled magical practitioner, particularly one experienced in casting such spells, might realize what's happening—which, by the way is one of the spell's weaknesses. If you're aware that there's a protection spell, then you're also aware that there's something inside being protected. And if you're strong enough, you just might be able to break through. _If_ you aren't stuck in a world with no magic," she added, with a disgusted sniff.

" _Or_ ," Lily replied, reaching into her jacket pocket with a sly smile, "if you have a magical object capable of breaching that protection spell." She placed a folded piece of paper on the table. "Courtesy of the Conjuring Arts Center on West 30th. The old guy told me that when I was ready to face my past and embrace my destiny, I'd find the key split between two specific texts in their catalog. I got to admit, I thought that after all this time, something could've happened to one or both of them. I mean, items get weeded out of libraries. Books get damaged. But, just like," she nodded to Ursula, "he was right about you being the first person I'd meet at the Hornby Aquarium, he was right about that."

Cruella snatched up the page, squinted at it, and thrust it toward Ursula. "You read this, dahling. Middle Elvish makes my head hurt."

"As do bright lights, big band music, and too much gin," Ursula sniped back. She scanned the page quickly, her eyebrows shooting up as she did. "Whoever that old guy was," she breathed, "he knew what he was talking about. There is some _serious_ magic in this script. But in order to get through that barrier…" She looked at Cruella.

"Materials matter. The words may be right, but we need to copy this onto vellum or it won't work out here. I assume that's something you can procure?"

Cruella laughed at that. "Vellum, as in treated animal hide? Usually from a," her smile was almost predatory, " _young_ animal?" She held out her hand. "One of you, give me your phone. I still have some connections that might come across."

* * *

"I don't mean to carry on like… like… I don't even know what," Belle murmured, as she poured Astrid a second mug of anijsmelk. She'd bought a quart of whole milk yesterday and she suspected she'd be buying it more often; it really made a difference to the drink. Astrid had compared it to lavender nectar, which Belle deduced was a compliment.

"You're upset," Astrid said soothingly.

"I'm all over the place," Belle corrected. "And I don't know why. I've never been so…" She hesitated. "Emotional, I guess. Out of control." Unbidden, her memory of that horrible night that she'd banished her husband rose large in her thoughts. That hadn't been the first time that she'd lost her temper, of course, but it was the first time that she'd said and done things she'd thought she'd never be able to undo. Not the last, though. Not the most unforgiveable.

"I wish," she said slowly, "that my wishing to be a better person was enough to make it so."

Astrid smiled sadly. "You know I was just scraping through my fairy godmother studies by the hairs of my wings," she murmured, "but if there's one idea I did manage to grasp, it's that wishing alone isn't enough." She reached out and, still smiling, touched Belle's shoulder. "There's a lot of hard work involved, not just for the fairy, but for the wisher! Haven't you ever wondered _why_ there have to be all those quests and trials and what have you?"

"All magic comes with a price?" Belle ventured.

"All magic… all wishes… all _choices_." The fairy sighed, but she was still smiling. "The hard part is understanding the true value, both of what you're getting, and of what you're giving up."

Belle nodded at that, thinking about how the cost of her loss of temper in New York had very nearly been her True Love. She'd almost lost Rumple over a stupid accusation. Well. Not really the accusation itself, but the accusation on top of all the other times she'd ignored his efforts to do the right thing and focused on the times he gave in to his Darker nature. She'd noticed his plots and schemes, but never thought to delve into his reasons or suggest better ways to achieve his aims. And when she'd accused him of never choosing to do Good for Good's sake, she'd completely overlooked the times he had— _and still lost out_. She was his wife. She'd always seen the good in him when nobody else could. And for her to throw out such words, even in anger, even unthinkingly… had been a worse betrayal of his love than the betrayal she'd been so mortified that he'd discovered. "That's… not always easy," she admitted. "Until it's too late."

"What are you going to do?"

Belle raised her own mug, took a long draught, and set it back down. "What can I do?"

"Are you looking for an answer, or was that rhetoric?"

Belle's eyebrows lifted. " _Is_ there an answer?"

Astrid took a breath and let it out. "Sleep on it. You don't have to do anything tonight. In the morning, maybe you'll have a better idea. Or it'll work itself out. Or they'll work things out." She hesitated. "Blue's wrong about a lot of things, but she's right about at least one: it's not up to any one person to solve everyone else's problems."

"But if I don't do anything, and things get worse…"

"And if you _do_ do something and things get worse…" Astrid lowered her eyes at Belle's stricken expression. "I'm sorry. I'm not saying you have to stand there wringing your hands and watching things escalate. But you don't have to do anything tonight. And you shouldn't do anything until you, at least, know what to do."

"So, I should sleep on it," Belle repeated, with the faintest hint of a smile.

"Tonight, anyway. But for now…"

Belle sighed and got up from her chair. "For now, I'd better open the library, like I should have done almost two hours ago. Will you be all right here?"

Astrid nodded. "Belle? Thanks again for letting me stay with you."

"You're welcome. For as long as you want."

She was smiling as she entered the library from the apartment, but her smile faded quickly. Somehow, she had her doubts about a good night's sleep being the answer to all her problems.

* * *

"Come in, Rumple," Regina greeted him with a smile that froze on her face when she saw his expression. "What's happened?"

Uncharacteristically, Rumple's demeanor was hesitant, nothing like his usual air of calm self-control. "I met Belle for lunch," he murmured. "Apparently, you cancelled the town hall's contract with her father?"

Regina blinked. "I didn't renew it for the coming year, but…" Her eyes widened. "He thinks it's some sort of retaliation for the other day, doesn't he?"

The relief in his eyes was nearly palpable. "It's not, then."

"No. Mr. Weatherstaff informed me last week that his rheumatism is acting up and he won't be able to do the stooping and bending that tending the flower beds entails this year." She sighed. "For the first twenty-eight years, it was just seasonal griping, but now that time's moving again, well, he means it. I'm not about to force him to retire; but he's mentioned that he'd look for someone to assist him this year, someone he can train to take over for him, if it should come to it. But since there's a lot to teach and he's requested a reduction in his duties, well, I've decided the flower beds can be foregone this year. Instead, I've asked him to put down sod for now, and we'll deal with next year when it comes." She shook her head. "That's what I get for procrastination, I suppose."

"Pardon?"

"Mr. Weatherstaff informed me three weeks ago. I should have contacted Moe then to explain, but I knew that the town hall's contract with the flower shop would expire on its own this week and I was hoping that in the interim, maybe that assistant would materialize and things would proceed as usual. If I'd called him before you and I went to see him, things would have looked rather different."

"You still could have explained to him now."

Regina lowered her eyes, acknowledging his point. "I suppose that, while revenge wasn't on my mind, I wasn't really in the mood to engage in a prolonged conversation. Shall I explain to Belle?"

Rumple shook his head. "I'll do that much," he murmured, trying to make it sound as though he was sparing her an inconvenience.

She wasn't fooled. "She's still furious," she deduced with a sigh.

"As I was when I learned you'd kept her locked away for over twenty-eight years." He shook his head again, but he was smiling slightly. "I got over it. And she's always been far more forgiving than I."

Regina's answering smile faded quickly. "Maybe," she said, "but keep an eye on her."

Rumple blinked. "Why?" he asked, honestly surprised at the directive.

"Well," Regina smiled again, "maybe it's nothing. As you imply, she's got every right to be angry. Still, while anyone can lose their temper on occasion, it seems to me that in her case, there've been several occasions in a relatively short span of time. Again, it might be nothing."

Rumple swallowed as he realized what Regina was thinking. "Surely not…"

"I could be wrong."

"I'll monitor the situation." He turned to go.

"Rumple?" Regina called behind him, "if there's anything I can do…"

He turned back then with a sad smile. "If it's what you suspect, I think we've both already done more than enough." He expelled a breath of air. "But thank you for bringing it to my attention."

* * *

"So, what happens when we get to this town, this… Storybrooke?" Ursula asked. "And don't just fob us off with some vague talk about revenge this time."

Lily sighed. "Until we know how things stand, I don't think I can get much more specific. One thing I do know is that a lot is going to depend on whether Emma broke that curse. Since she was supposed to show up there on her 28th birthday, odds are she did, but I don't think we can afford to take anything for granted. If she didn't, from what I can tell, as the person who cast the curse, the Evil Queen is the only person who ought to be… uh…"

"Awake," Cruella supplied.

Lily nodded. "If time's stopped for everyone else, and they don't remember from one day to the next, they won't know we haven't been there from the start; they'll just go through every day meeting us and thinking we must have been there all along and our paths just never crossed."

Ursula nodded. "Or they'll know we're new in town, but they won't realize that there's anything odd about it. So, if the curse is in effect, we just avoid Regina, who'll probably be running the place, and we'll be fine."

"Regina," Lily repeated, raising an eyebrow. "The Evil Queen, you mean? You know her?"

Ursula smiled. "Let's just say we go back far enough to be on a first-name basis. She and your mother were a lot closer, though."

"My mother," Lily repeated. "I can't wait to meet her."

"From what I recall of how excited she was when she learned that you were on the way," Ursula said, her smile taking on a surprising gentleness, "I'm sure that's mutual. Assuming she's awake."

"Well really," Cruella drawled, "how long does it take to break a curse unless you're a complete idiot?"

"Well, Emma wasn't a _complete_ idiot when I met her," Lily replied, "but she had her moments. And even if she might have liked reading fantasy novels about magic, she had a hard time believing anything that wasn't right in front of her. So, while she probably has broken the curse by now, there's also a small chance it's still going strong."

"If it is, that'll be our good luck," Ursula said. "However, if good luck was a commodity that either of us had in abundance, I wouldn't have spent the last couple of decades shoveling plankton and Cruella wouldn't currently be slinking her way across Great Neck, one escort at a time. I think you've mentioned a few stormy seas in your life as well?"

Lily sighed. "Okay. Probably wishful thinking. In that case, we try to get in with nobody the wiser, find some place to hole up, and start off by doing some reconnaissance. Thanks to the book's illustrations, I've got some idea of what the main players are supposed to look like, but you've already met a few of them. You'll know what to expect."

"Maybe, dahling," Cruella said, "but remember: Regina knows what the two of us look like. If the others are awake, she won't be the only one to recognize us. You, on the other hand…"

"She's right," Ursula said. "If anyone's going to be spying out the place, it's going to have to be you."

"But… they won't know me. I mean, at all. Nobody will. How'm I supposed to explain who I am or how I got there or—?"

Cruella snapped her fingers. "Carter's Haven!" she beamed.

"Huh?"

Her fur stole flapped over one shoulder as Cruella gestured impatiently. "Some obscure little hamlet Regina completely annihilated a few years before she cast the curse. You claim that you're from there, that you happened to be off visiting relatives in another town or foraging for berries or something equally tedious and escaped the slaughter. Nobody will remember you from the Enchanted Forest because nobody else survived to."

Ursula nodded slowly. "It could work. There's still the matter of where you've been until now in the town."

"Oh please, dahling," Cruella retorted. "People like to keep track of everybody who's anybody, but how bothered can they be keeping up with somebody who's nobody? Now if you were Cinderella or Thumbelina, of course people would be interested in what you've been doing. But a simple village maid? Please." Her eyes narrowed briefly, then opened again, wider than before.

"You know, Lily dear," she said, "Regina cast that curse in the first place in order to get vengeance over Snow White. Give the little goody-goody and her dreary prince chisel-chin a fate worse than death. But after thirty-odd years… even if the curse hasn't been broken, maybe she'll be bored enough by now to consider plain old _death_ for them. You might want to take a more direct approach. No hiding, no pussyfooting about. When you tell her why you're there, she'll likely _give_ them to you with her blessing." She shrugged. "And if the curse _has_ broken and they're still alive, it'll likely be because without magic she can't harm them and she'll be more than happy to join forces with someone who can. And then, dahling, the fur can really fly."

A slow smile spread across Lily's face. "You might have something there," Lily admitted. "Both about the Evil Queen and… Well, G-d knows I've held about a million dead-end jobs and most of the time, the customers didn't recognize me out of uniform. I mean, they could spend twenty minutes chewing me out for not letting them return something they bought on clearance, and then they'd stand next to me at the bus stop the next day and just strike up a conversation like it was nothing." She nodded thoughtfully. "Maybe I won't be so conspicuous in that place after all."

"You see?"

Lily nodded. "Okay. So, the way I figure, not everyone in town is going to get along like one big happy family—not that I'd know much about _those_. _Especially_ not if Emma broke the curse and they all remember their pasts. And since we're agreed that's probably happened by now? Well, I'm betting all the feuds and arguments everyone brought with them from the Enchanted Forest are probably either still going strong or simmering below the surface, waiting for someone to poke at them with a stick." She smirked. "Now there's not a lot I'm great at in life, but I've got one skill. Call it a superpower. If there's a way to stir things up… I'll find it. We reopen some of those old feuds, get everyone at each other's throats… and then while they're trying to kill each other, we find my mom and with her help? We finish off anyone left standing who crossed us in the past." Her smile grew murderous. "In my case, that'd be Snow White, Prince Charming, and their two-faced, backstabbing daughter..."

_...Who walked away from me twice, even after I begged her to stay. I'll never forgive her for that. And I bet my mother won't either. Next time we meet, it'll be_ her _turn to beg..._

* * *

The smug little bug hadn't given her a pair of rubber gloves, Zelena thought with a snarl. If this continued, her hands would be red and chapped in no time. The concrete floor wasn't as smooth as she'd thought before she'd stooped down to scrub it either. She could tell that she was going to learn each pit and crevice intimately by the time she was done. And the sawdust seemed to be giving her a rash. She thought she might be starting to show. It was early, yet; she was barely out of her first trimester, but according to one of those wretched magazines she'd been flipping through from sheer boredom, first-time mothers often did begin showing evidence of their condition some time between the twelfth and sixteenth week. It was hard to keep track of the time here, but she'd been roughly ten weeks pregnant when she'd learned of it and she thought that she'd been here two or three weeks. A month, perhaps, though likely not. It just _felt_ like an eternity.

Her hands felt like they were on fire and she snarled an expletive—nobody here to hear it or care—and waved her left hand angrily over her right. There was a faint mist of green smoke and the rash vanished.

Zelena's eyes widened in shock. Despite the cuff on her wrist, she'd just managed to cast a healing spell. But that shouldn't be— _Don't you dare finish that thought!_ she ordered herself. _Magic is predicated on_ BELIEF _. You may have cast that spell on reflex, because you forgot about the cuff, but you did just cast it, so it's possible!_

Unhesitating, she dove under the blanket on her cot and waved her right hand over her left. For a moment, nothing happened. _You did already this,_ she repeated to herself. _No matter what everyone else thinks, it's possible. It is!_ She closed her eyes, blotting out her vision of the cuff, focusing only on the annoying stinging sensations pricking her left hand and how badly she wanted them gone. A cool wave of healing spread over that hand as well. She opened her eyes and saw that the rash was gone. Exultantly, she gestured at the cell door.

Nothing happened.

_Come on! Open!_

Nothing. And this time, no amount of determination seemed to have an effect. The instant she felt her power flicker, it died as though someone had smothered it. This was worse than when Regina had torn away her necklace after that fight in the barn and she'd thought Rumple was going to rend her limb from limb. Worse than when he'd appeared in her cell and nearly finished the job. Then, she'd known her magic was gone. She'd reached for it and her mind had closed on empty air. But now… now, she could feel it striving within her to break free but it kept hitting an impenetrable wall!

_Stop. Think. You cast a healing spell. You got_ that _to work. So, what's different now?_

For a moment, confusion reigned. Then she realized what it had to be. The healing spell had been directed inward. The force she was trying to hurl at the door was—quite obviously—directed outward. What if the cuff didn't _cancel_ magic? What if it dammed it up so that it couldn't leave the caster? If that was the case…

Zelena took a deep breath and smiled. If that was the case…

"I think I know what sort of escape clause Pan built into this wretched device," she whispered, feeling the first stirrings of real hope she'd felt since they'd thrust her into this underground dungeon. "I believe I begin to see how I might avail myself of it..."

* * *

In the back room of his shop, Rumple sat silently, one finger circling the rim of a rather particular chipped cup. He should have known. He should have seen the signs without Regina pointing them out. At the very least, he should have been aware of the danger.

Instead, he'd been caught up in the tidal wave of love and appreciation that had washed over him when he'd watched Henry's recording of Belle's speech at the town line, realizing that there _was_ still hope that they could reconcile. And there was, there _was_.

But when Belle had acknowledged her inner darkness, Rumple reflected, she might have flung wide a door that was only meant to be cracked open on occasion. Because the aim of darkness was always to snuff out the light. And Belle's light had been powerful enough to pierce even _his_ Darkness.

He shook his head and unconsciously drew the cup closer. When he'd become the Dark One, he'd reveled in his newly-acquired magic and power. He'd rushed to settle old scores and right old wrongs. He'd ended the Ogre War with barely a shrug and, for a brief moment, reveled in the thanks and adulation.

And his Darkness had fed on it and grown stronger.

He'd barely known how to resist it; a lifetime as a peasant with a lot only slightly above slavery in the first place did not breed the sort of person likely to mount much opposition to a powerful force. For Bae's sake, he'd tried though. And even when he'd chosen power over Bae, he'd still kept that small scrap of love and humanity that kept him from giving up on crafting the curse that would reunite them, notwithstanding the time, the work, and the myriad setbacks along the way.

But he'd also understood what he'd now become and honed his bargaining and negotiating skills on himself long before he'd started striking deals with others. He'd fought to retain some semblance of his humanity and, even if those about him saw only the monster, even if he himself believed that there was little left of the man he'd once been, he'd always balked at sacrificing those last fading embers of the Good-if-weak person who'd taken on the Darkness for the power to spare his son—and all the other sons and daughters drafted to the battlefield—from the all-but-certain death that awaited.

His Darkness had seized hold of him almost instantaneously.

But it was working on Belle in ways that were subtler, playing on her fears and insecurities, showing her those parts of herself that didn't fit the mold in which she'd tried to cast herself and suggesting that she allow them freer rein than might actually be advised.

He could be wrong. Regina was struggling with her own past, much as he was. When one was sensitive to one's own Darkness and the likelihood of sinking back into an abyss from which one had only lately climbed up, it was easy enough to see shadows everywhere. Even in Light like Belle's.

And Belle had faced more than one brutal shock and ugly realization lately. Almost anyone could be reasonably expected to be at loose ends emotionally.

And if he confronted her with what he and Regina feared, there was no guarantee that she wouldn't turn about and blame him for darkening her soul. Or accuse Regina of trying to steal their happiness as she had in the past and lash out at him for not recognizing it. Or…

A ragged breath escaped him. He couldn't discuss this with Belle. Not yet. Not until he was certain. But he was going to stay alert for any signs that might prove or, more hopefully, _dis_ prove Regina's suspicions—which were now his, as well.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

Rumple had breakfast with Emma at Granny's. He knew that she sensed something was amiss and he half-wished she'd ask him about it. Not that he'd tell her, not in public where anyone might overhear. Not with Leroy seated mere yards away enjoying his coffee; dwarf hearing was _sharp_. The last thing Rumple wanted was to see and hear the dwarf running down Main Street roaring Rumple's 'terrible news' at the top of his lungs.

Like so much of his life to date, this wasn't fair. Had he actually succeeded in darkening Emma's heart, as he'd meant to do weeks ago in New York, he might have—well, 'appreciated' was hardly the accurate term, but— _understood_ the irony in having that same fate now seeming poised to overtake Belle. But he hadn't done it. He'd fought the inclination, even going so far as to try to send Emma back to Storybrooke while he remained behind to live out the time remaining to him far from home, his last hope gone. He'd done the right thing then and he'd struggled to keep doing it since. He wasn't even the Dark One anymore! So… why was Fate exacting such a price?

"Gold?" Emma was waving her hand in front of his face. He blinked.

"Pardon?"

She smiled apologetically. "You just zoned out for a bit. Is everything okay?"

No, everything was _not_ 'okay', but so long as there were others about, he wasn't going to admit it, much less discuss what was really going on. Well. Not unless she pressed the matter. "Yes, of course," he murmured. "Forgive me. I… fear I'm somewhat preoccupied."

There. He'd just given her the perfect opening to probe further.

Emma didn't take it, though. "No problem," she said with a smile. "It's getting around time for me to be at the sheriff station. Guess I'll see you around supper time when I come by the shop to collect Henry."

He nodded and began to push his chair back from the table, for once wishing that she wasn't so meticulous about not prying into his affairs unbidden.

And then, she asked him something he wouldn't have expected in a million years.

"Gold? You want to join us later? It'll just be me, my parents, Henry and Regina. Bring Belle, too if you want."

Shocked, he replied with the question that immediately darted into his head. "Have you asked _them_ yet?"

Emma grinned. "It was my mom's idea, so she's probably talked it over with Dad. Do you want me to take a poll or…?"

He shook his head, hoping he didn't appear _too_ stupefied. "I-I'll talk to Belle," he murmured. "And I…" He smiled. "Well. I should be delighted."

Emma's grin grew wider. "You close at six, right? We'll swing by your place around a quarter to seven?"

"Fine," he replied, still feeling somewhat dazed. "That should be… fine."

* * *

It had been two days since August had finished the Battleship set that Rumple had commissioned and started on Killian's. To be more accurate, he'd whittled out the pegs for both sets first thing, getting the monotonous work out of the way first. And now, the ships for Rumple's set were done and he was working on the ones for Killian's. Two different kingdoms, two different sets of naval vessels to replicate. Because, after all, where was the fun in making both sets identical? He was enjoying himself and he suspected that his father was too. After all, August had been a child of seven when he'd left the Enchanted Forest. He hadn't known much about seagoing vessels. The boat to Pleasure Island had been a passenger craft. The raft his father had fashioned inside the great whale that they'd ridden through the storm to safety had been even less. So, since he'd wanted the game-pieces to resemble the warships from the realm of his birth, he'd needed his father's expertise.

He could have gone to Killian, he supposed. And he would have, had the pirate known that Rumple had also commissioned a game set from him. But he didn't want Killian to wax rhapsodic on the sails and rigging of a North-Coastal galley and then wonder why the ships in _his_ game represented the navies of the Black Sands Archipelago and the Alder Peninsula. August was almost certain that each man had commissioned the game to give the other as a gift and the last thing he wanted to do was accidentally spoil the surprise.

Besides, his father was happy to share his knowledge and expertise. In his younger days, he'd crafted many a model boat, some to be sold intact, others meant for the buyer to assemble and paint. And since, for some years, such toys had been in large demand, it had behooved Geppetto to ensure that his works were as perfect in scale and detail as possible, the better to outdo his competition. He'd even had a few of the old pieces gathering dust in the garage and he'd been delighted to bring them out for examination.

And somewhere in the middle of the technical discussions and the history lessons that his father couldn't seem to avoid teaching as he explained the reason for this figurehead on the prow or that manner of rigging the sails, they'd found time to talk of other things: shared memories of their too-brief time together in the Enchanted Forest and later in Storybrooke, the turns their lives had taken once they were apart, things they were proud of and things they weren't. And somehow, those last weren't quite as difficult to discuss as either had thought.

As August put the final touches on the hull of an iron dragon—a ship that reminded him of a Korean turtle ship from this realm's eighteenth century—he was startled by a knock on the door that adjoined the garage with the rest of the house. He looked up and smiled. "Papa, you don't need to knock," he protested.

Marco smiled back. "Rumpelstiltskin, he's in the living room now. He's asking to speak with you. I thought I'd see if you could come to him or if I should send him to you."

Here? And let him see the mostly-completed iron dragon, flagship of a navy that wouldn't be in the game August was giving him? He immediately shoved the model into one of the cabinets behind him and locked the door. "I'll be right up," he grinned. "Just let me wash my hands and get this dust off my clothes."

"And wipe your shoes on the mat," Marco added genially.

"Yes, Papa."

* * *

"All right, Beautiful One," Zelena cooed. "Come and get your treat." She was sitting on her cot, her blanket tented over her head. As a child, she'd often amused herself that way, pretending at times that she was in a cave or a castle, her dolls at her side. Her mother—foster mother, though she hadn't known it at the time—had still been alive and her father—peculiar that she still thought of him that way after everything else that had happened—still sober. Those had been carefree days that she might have savored more had she known how abruptly they'd come to an end with her mother's death.

She hadn't made a blanket tent in years and she'd forgotten how delicious it could feel to be safe in her own little nest, shut away from prying eyes… and CCTV cameras. Inviting Billina into this makeshift sanctuary was mainly for effect; while the blanket concealed _her_ , it might not conceal the movements she made beneath it. Let whoever was watching think that she was merely engaging with her pet. Nothing suspicious there. And if she was wrong, and some guard did hasten to her door to see what she was up to, well, she'd still hear the tread at the door and have an extra moment to compose herself and act as though nothing was amiss.

Billina was strutting about on the mattress, pecking at the corn. "That's a girl," the witch murmured. "Now, we shall see…" She closed her eyes and reminded herself that her power would not extend past the cuff. But within those confines… A smile came to her face as she searched for a happy memory. This time it wasn't hard. Her early years were still fresh in her mind. And that gave her an idea.

* * *

_She couldn't have been more than five or six years old. She'd been on her way to the barn to milk the goat when she'd chanced to see her reflection in the water of the horse trough. Intrigued, she leaned closer. It wasn't that she had no idea what she looked like. She'd seen herself in the tin spoons at the table and her mother's burnished copper kettle. But the metal distorted her face, making it look too long or too full. And, in the case of the spoons, upside-down. She didn't think she'd ever seen herself quite so clearly._

_"Zelena!" her father called from the house. "Don't dawdle, girl! We need that milk for breakfast!"_

_"Yes, father!" she replied hastily, tearing her eyes from the trough and dashing toward the barn door._

* * *

Although she was still smiling, she couldn't quite suppress a twinge of sadness. She'd been so young, then. So innocent. So unaware of the turns her life would soon take. But, more to the point for her purposes, so _small_. "Direct my magic inward," Zelena murmured, her eyes still closed beneath the blanket. Her smile became a grin. "Ohhhh, yes!" Wait. She had to remember that even if the cameras couldn't see beneath the blanket, her activity might not go as undetected as she needed. Now how to counter…? After a moment, the answer came to her and she lay down abruptly on the cot, rolling to one side and making sure that the blankets were still up about her head. Billina squawked a protest and began fighting her way back into the light and air. Zelena let her go. It didn't seem as though the hen would be needed after all. She knew the spell she wanted to cast now, and she believed that it would work. No. She _knew_ it would. There wasn't even an iota of doubt in her mind.

* * *

Rumple looked up at the sound of August's step in the hallway. "I trust I didn't tear you away from anything that couldn't be delayed," he murmured.

"Nah, I needed a break," the younger man replied with a ready smile. "What's up?"

Instead of replying, Rumple lifted his head and cast about the room, trying to gauge whether Marco was still within earshot. "Is there someplace more private where we can talk?"

August was suddenly glad he'd locked away the game piece he'd been working on before leaving the garage. "Uh, yeah," he shrugged, jerking his head toward the doorway from which he'd just come. "This way. Uh… step into my office."

* * *

Huddled under a hospital-issue blanket, a red-headed six-year-old giggled as she looked at the magical cuff, now hanging loosely on an arm nearly half of its former circumference. Triumphantly she shook her arm and the cuff slid off.

"Trust Pan to create a trap only a child could escape," she whispered, resuming her natural size and age. Well. The cuff was off. She could leave at any time. But something stayed her.

She looked down at her belly. Curled up as she was, she couldn't really see the slight rounding, but she knew it was there and she knew that it—and she—would only grow larger and more unwieldy over the next few months. And she'd never been pregnant before. While she'd made academic study of the condition in the past, the better to insinuate herself with Snow and monitor the princess's progress, experiencing it first-hand was rather different. Zelena had to admit that she wasn't entirely clear on how to distinguish between symptoms that were 'annoying but normal for the condition,' like the morning sickness that had sent her to the clinic in New York and those that might present a clear cause for alarm. And right now, she was in a facility where there were staff members who _were_ trained in making that sort of distinction.

Moreover, if she were to escape now, the so-called _heroes_ would tear the town about searching for her. She didn't know that she wanted to be on the run and hiding out in her current circumstances. And if it came down to another witch-fight, she'd be risking the child—and any leverage she might retain over her half-sister's True Love. She had no idea whether she was mother-material in any way, shape, or form, but the baby she carried might be the only thing standing between herself... and exile on the other side of the town line. Robin's code of honor would mandate that he intercede for the mother of his child—or child-to-be, as the case was currently—but if she were to lose it, she doubted he'd be willing to speak in her defense.

She flashed once more on Rumple—imprisoned by Snow White and her debatably-charming consort in the last months before the Dark Curse had transported everyone to this land. She'd watched events transpire in her crystal ball then, taking the measures of the foes she meant to defeat one day, wondering whether Regina even had the talent to cast the curse or if she'd need to pay a visit of her own to that underground cell to gloat to her erstwhile teacher about how he'd chosen the wrong sister after all. And one thing she'd learned from her crystal ball was that Rumple hadn't been nearly as confined as everyone had thought. He could have escaped at any time, had it been in his best interest to do so. But, as he'd told Regina moments before the swirling purple fog engulfed the land, _he'd been where he wanted to be._

Zelena mulled over her options carefully. The cuff was off. She had her magic. And if anyone threatened her or her unborn child, she could defend herself. But an escape at this juncture would not be the wisest course of action. Her child-to-be was her greatest asset within this room, but it was also her greatest liability outside of it. Moreover, should any complication arise with her pregnancy, she had to admit that she was already in the best place possible.

"I am where I want to be," she whispered, a wondering smile spreading across her face. "At least… for now." Once the child was born, it would be a different matter entirely.

With a wave of her hand, a leather cuff appeared once more on her forearm. It was identical to the one she'd just removed in all respects save one: this cuff was mere cowhide with no magical properties whatsoever. Let everyone else think her caged and magic-less. By the time they learned their error, it would be far too late.

The last thing she did before pushing back the blanket again was shrink the real cuff to a fraction of its size and slip it into a newly-created pocket in her long tartan skirt.

* * *

"So," August smiled, waving Rumple toward a wooden stool and sinking down onto another one, "what's so top secret you couldn't discuss it in the house?"

Rumple sat down, folded his hands in his lap, and studied his fingers for a long moment, before he looked up. "In New York," he began hesitantly, "when you realized what I intended for Emma… How was it that you were able to prevent it?"

August blinked. Then he shifted a bit on his stool. "I didn't really do all that much," he said slowly. "I mean, even when I suspected what you were up to, I thought I could be wrong."

"But you did do something, Rumple pressed. Almost absently, he rubbed two fingertips over the middle finger of his opposite hand. For the first time, August noted that the skin around that nail was rough and raw.

"You should put lotion on that," he murmured. "I should have some Neosporin around here somewhere."

"Yes, yes, yes," Rumple replied, not interested in pursuing the topic. "I'll see to that. Answer me. Please."

August let out a sigh. "Okay. Truth? I told Emma what I knew about the Author ink and that _if_ you were planning on making some, she was at risk and why. She asked me if I had any idea how to stop you and," he paused, for a moment and looked away, then steeled himself to meet Gold's questioning brown eyes once more. "And I'll admit I suggested she head back to Storybrooke right away, make up some excuse about an emergency—which it kind of was—with or without Belle and I'd stay on and do what I could for you."

"You would have stayed on?" Rumple said, doing his best to hide his astonishment. "Despite what I was plotting?"

"You were plotting to save your life," August said quietly. "Are you seriously going to sit there and tell me that you can't see why I, of all people, wouldn't judge someone in that situation as harshly as you seem to think I should have?"

Rumple's eyes widened for an instant. Then he shook his head and a genuine smile flashed briefly across his face. "No, of course not," he murmured. "But thank you, all the same." He took another breath. "However, I deduce that she rejected your suggestion."

"Almost out of hand," August nodded. "I mean, it wasn't that she thought I was wrong or lying, but she didn't want to leave you behind without proof that my suspicions were correct. She asked me to keep an eye on things and call her out if she seemed to be headed down the wrong path—something I was already planning to do anyway—and promised to be extra-careful herself." He shook his head. "And then you opened up about why you lied about the dagger and what you were going to do with the hat and, well, I think after that point, the only way she was going back to Storybrooke without you was if I tied her up, threw her in the trunk of her bug, and drove back myself. And since one, I'd promised to stand by you, and two," he shrugged, "I don't actually know how to drive a car; just a motorcycle… well, that wasn't going to happen." His eyes narrowed. "So why bring this up now?"

Rumple hesitated. "I thought that since you seemed to have a certain level of expertise in determining when someone was at risk of falling under the sway of Darkness, perhaps you might be in a position to make that diagnosis for another."

August's eyebrows shot up. "Are you asking," he began slowly, "if I think you might be backsliding?"

"No," Rumple said at once. Then he frowned worriedly. "Although, if you should develop a concern on that front, perhaps it's best that you advise me directly. No. I was wondering whether you might have noted anything untoward…" He sucked in his breath once more and, almost absently, pulled at a hangnail.

"Mr. Gold?" August prompted.

Rumple closed his eyes, exhaled, and took another breath and forced the words out. "…In Belle."

"Belle?"

He opened his eyes once more and nodded. "Regina suspects something amiss," he said, his words nearly tumbling out now. "And I'm not at all certain she's wrong. I-I hope she is. But…"

"But when it's someone you love, you want to believe the best of them," August finished softly. "I… Belle and I don't usually... uh… hang out that much when you aren't around. But I'll try to pop by the library sometime this week. She doesn't help you in the shop anymore, does she?"

Rumple shook his head. "Not at present, though I'm sure that will change in due course."

"Yeah, well, don't rush 'due course'. I'll visit the library this week," he repeated, "and see if I notice anything." He flashed Rumple an uneasy smile. "I'm a writer, after all. I'm supposed to be observant."

Rumple's answering smile was just as forced, but there was no mistaking the genuine relief in his words. "Thank you, Booth."

* * *

Tony Castaway smiled when Carey set a fresh mug of coffee down on his desk. "You know that phone won't ring any faster if you keep staring at it," she said.

"I know," he replied. And she was quite right. The phone would ring precisely two minutes and nine seconds from now, and it didn't really have to. He and Tia had never needed a telephone to communicate with each other over short distances and now, after considerable time and practice, longer ones, as well. Although he couldn't have told it to many people, an incidental reason for his trip to Sri Lanka had been to test just how far apart he and his sister could be and still be in touch. Apparently, even with some 8700 miles between them, they could still connect, though it required a great deal of focus and Tony had felt a tension headache coming on after less than five minutes. In contrast, New York was only about 2300 miles from Tia's home in Misty Valley; they could probably speak mind-to-mind for hours. If they did, though, there was a greater likelihood that people would discover them in a state that—at least to most people—bore a strong resemblance to catatonia. Tia was lucky; she lived among many who shared their talents and would understand. Tony, on the other hand, had chosen to migrate eastward at Uncle Bené's request, and his current location required him to be more circumspect.

"Carey," he said slowly, "have you ever felt like you grew up without meaning to?"

"Pardon?"

Tony smiled. "I mean… one day, you're off having adventures with your siblings that you know the adults would never understand… and then suddenly, you're one of the adults yourself. And you realize it'd be better for you and everyone else that you play that part, but still, you can't quite believe that a chapter of your life has closed and there's a part of you that would do anything to read it again?"

Carey blinked. And for a moment, she seemed to be struggling with a decision. "Mr. Castaway?"

The phone on Tony's desk rang then, startling her and, as Tony picked it up, she recollected herself and exited the office hastily. A new shipment of old books sat on her desk; she'd signed for the delivery an hour ago. Time to start entering them into the catalogue. She was carefully lifting them out of the box when she realized that her employer had come out of his office.

"I'm going to have to go away again," he said apologetically. "I know I only just got back, but it can't be helped."

Carey nodded. "Will you be gone for long this time?"

"I really can't say, but from what I've been told, you should be able to reach me if there's any cause."

"No cell phone trouble this time out?" Carey asked with a smile.

Tony was uncharacteristically serious. "There shouldn't be. But if there is…" He hesitated for a moment before scribbling a number down on a Post-it note. "That's the number for Misty Valley Cooperative. They have," he smiled back easily, "better ways to get hold of me, if they have to."

Carey frowned. "All right," she said dubiously. "But where will you be?"

"Maine," Tony replied, snatching something off of his desk and shoving it into the pocket of his khaki cargo pants. "A little town called Storybrooke."

And then he was shrugging into a blue puffer coat and out the door before Carey could ask him why on earth he was taking a harmonica with him on a trip that seemed to be so urgent and unexpected.

* * *

"Dinner," Belle repeated, trying to smile. "Rumple, that's wonderful." She meant that. At least, she meant that it was wonderful for _him_. But at the same time, she was thinking, _Dinner at Granny's. I haven't stepped foot in there for weeks—I sent Astrid in alone to order that other night—and I still don't know if I can face doing it. If Mrs. Lucas mentions anything about what I did, I'll probably tear out of there. Or even if she suggests steak, I'll wonder whether it's because that's the special or because Blue needed one for her eye after what I did. And Regina will be there, too. I can't. I just…_ She finally managed that smile. "But would you mind if I gave it a miss? I'm just tired tonight."

Rumple frowned. "You do look a bit worn, now that you mention it," he murmured. "In fact, I believe you've seemed rather peaked all week. You're not ill, I hope?"

"Ill?" Belle repeated. "Oh, no! No, no, it's…" She took a breath. "I've been taking kickboxing lessons," she admitted, wondering why she felt so nervous about saying so. Maybe, because she knew that Rumple perceived her a certain way, and that that way certainly did not involve kickboxing.

Rumple's eyebrows shot up. "Kickboxing?" he repeated with a smile that betrayed surprise, but no mockery. "I'd no idea that was something that interested you."

Belle sighed. And then, realizing that he seemed interested in hearing more, she went on. "I was so sure that after I hit Blue, Emma would have to arrest me for it that I decided to save her the trouble and turned myself in. As it turned out," she said, heaving another—more annoyed-sounding—sigh, "Blue decided not to press charges, so I needn't have bothered, but Emma suggested I ought to look for a better outlet if I wanted to punch something again. And I've been…" She hesitated for a moment, then steeled herself and went on. "I've been getting so angry lately. At me, at us, at things we're still trying to… to move past. My father coming by the library to unload on me when I'm trying to work. Finding out what Regina did and knowing that things would be so much easier if I just tried to be the better person and do my best to forgive and forget like I always do…" She felt moisture welling up in her eyes and swiped at them irritably.

Rumple caught her hand in his. "Is it helping?" he asked seriously. "This course?"

Belle took another breath. "I think it might be," she said. "At least, I think I'm less likely to pummel the next person who annoys me, if only because, after pummeling on _command_ for an hour a day, three days a week, I'm too sore and tired to lift my hand against anyone else. But it does feel… good… to be allowed to strike out, if that makes sense?"

"Oh, it does," Rumple nodded. He was no stranger to violent fits of temper and the catharsis that followed them. And he did know something about not wanting to pursue an activity of his own free will after having been in a situation where he'd been _compelled_ to pursue it. Granted, a class in a gymnasium setting was hardly a cage, and signing up of one's own free will to have an instructor order one about was markedly different from having someone use magic to force one to spin for hours on end, but there were enough similarities for him to comprehend her feelings.

Maybe all Belle needed was a healthy way to release her temper and work out her feelings. Maybe. But maybe not. He'd lived in Darkness long enough to know that he'd been most vulnerable to its whispers when he'd felt himself alone, adrift, and unsupported. When he'd distanced himself from Belle in New York, Emma and August had rallied to him. And on returning to Storybrooke, he'd been astounded to discover additional support on the parts of Henry and Regina. Even Emma's parents, while somewhat more hesitant, had made friendly overtures. But while he'd been trying to wrap his head around these changes in attitude, he wondered whether anyone had spared much thought for Belle. She'd chosen him long ago and that choice had also created a bit of distance between herself and the other 'heroes' of the town. Nothing so wide or insurmountable as the abyss he'd always imagined yawning between those heroes and _himself_ , but there nonetheless.

And she was now, however unconsciously, increasing that distance, pulling away from Emma, lashing out at Blue, and now shutting Regina out of her life.

He'd lived in Darkness long enough to know how it must be chortling at each tie Belle chose to sever. The more alone and adrift she _perceived_ herself to be, the more she would withdraw and the more alone and adrift she would become in reality.

He'd lived in Darkness long enough to recognize what was happening and understand the urgency of arresting its progress now. But he also recognized mentioning his concerns to Belle might turn her away from him now, whether because she'd become incensed at the very idea that she might be turning to Darkness, or whether because she'd blame his past influence for making her susceptible to it. And there was still no proof, only the suspicions that Regina had shared with him. They might both be imagining things that weren't there.

And Belle knew that things weren't quite right; why else would she be looking for healthy ways to release her feelings? Other heroes were tempted by Darkness and passed the trial. Maybe this would all sort itself out.

But a show of love and support might go a long way toward bolstering the chances that it would.

He smiled. "Well, it sounds as though you could use the rest," he said. And then, hesitantly, he went on, "I wonder…"

"Rumple?"

If August had warned him about rushing to have Belle working in the shop again, he'd likely balk at this idea, as well. But surely... He closed his eyes and twisted his hands together in his lap for a moment. Then he opened his eyes once more, locked them hesitantly on hers, and ventured, "D-do you think it would be premature if you were to move back… under my…" He smiled again, a bit more warmly. "Un-under _our_ roof?"

Belle's eyes widened. Then she flung her arms about his neck with a glad cry. Rumple hugged her back. In his heart of hearts, he wasn't positive that _he_ was ready for this step. But if there was a chance that it could help his wife find the strength to triumph over her inner Darkness, he would do his best to rise to the occasion.

* * *

The cafeteria was cold at this hour. At lunchtime, filled to capacity, it was generally a bit on the warm side and, with the windows kept shut against the winter chill, kind of stuffy. But now, with only twenty-odd students and the drama teacher-slash-director present, Henry found himself wishing he'd gotten his jacket from his locker before reporting for the first script read-through.

At least, the custodian had already cleaned up. The scent of lemon floor cleaner was strong and sharp in his nostrils, but it was better than having to smell food on an empty stomach, or see the remains of everyone's lunch on the tables and floors.

Henry looked around at the others in the circle of chairs. It was a small school and he knew everyone by sight, if not by name. Grace and Cecily—a new girl who'd arrived with the second curse—had their math books out and were clearly trying to get their homework done in the time before the rehearsal started. Nicholas was devouring a cupcake. A number of other students were chatting with one another or sitting idly and looking about, much as Henry was.

Finally, Mr. Quince cleared his throat. "Is everyone here?" he asked.

"Maybe you ought to take attendance," a boy a grade behind Henry suggested.

"Mr. Quince?" a girl named Marie waved her hand. "Could you tell us a bit about the play, too?"

Peter Quince smiled. "Marie, our play is _The Matchmaker_. It's the story of a man hoping to marry an heiress who doesn't realize that the matchmaker he's hired to arrange the meeting is hoping to marry him for herself. And he also doesn't realize that two of his clerks are planning to skip work and also visit the city in hopes of love and adventure, _or_ that his niece is eloping with her boyfriend in his absence."

"Love?" a shrill voice piped up with a disgusted squeal. "You mean _kissing_? Ewwww!"

"Skippy!" Cecily whirled around to face her younger brother who had, until now, been quietly reading a comic book. She turned back to the director, a flush coming to her pale face. "I'm sorry, Mr. Quince. Mama said I could only come to rehearsals if he stayed with me because there's nobody at home today and he's too little to stay on his own."

She turned back to the corner where her seven-year-old brother was sitting. "He promised that he'd be quiet!" she added in a voice that was somewhere between a hiss and a stage whisper.

Mr. Quince stifled a smile. "As long as he is, he can stay. But otherwise, I'm afraid your mother will need to make other arrangements should this situation crop up again in the future."

The flush had now spread to Cecily's ears. "Yes, Mr. Quince," she mumbled.

"All right. As for taking attendance, suppose we all introduce ourselves by our real names and the parts we'll play. Starting with you, Cecily."

Cecily nodded, closed her eyes, and visibly tried to pull herself together. Then she took a breath, lifted her head, and announced, "My name is Cecily Lapine and I play Irene Molloy."

"My name is Marie Bonfamille and I play Dolly Levi."

One by one, names and parts were announced, but Henry felt his heart begin to pound as realization struck. He'd already read through the script and right now, there were only two things going through his mind. First, Cecily Lapine was kind of cute. And second? His character, Cornelius Hackl, was going to end up with Irene Molloy in the play. He noticed that she was looking back at him and he smiled nervously. Her answering smile was equally nervous, but no less genuine.

* * *

From the moment that Lily had entered the Hornby Aquarium, Ursula had found herself vacillating between hope and doubt. Life had not been good to her in any of the three realms in which she'd made her home. She'd had her singing voice cruelly ripped away in Neverland, nearly been a Chernabog's dinner in the Enchanted Forest, and been reduced to eking out a living waiting service on the very creatures that would have been serving _her_ , had she remained in her father's palace. It was only natural that, when a newcomer appeared dangling the promise of something better, just past the horizon, something in her would leap for it.

But then, commonsense and the desire to keep afloat resurfaced. The game, as it were, was rigged. The happiest ending that she could hope for was a life of mediocrity, forgotten by Fate and by anyone who ever knew her. Still, seeing Lily's hope and determination, she'd wanted to believe that things might be different. But before she threw her caution to the winds, she'd wanted to be sure that the young woman knew what she was doing and was able to present a plan with some hope of success.

Mentally, she'd set conditions. If Lily could demonstrate that she knew where the other denizens of the Enchanted Forest resided, that would be enough for Ursula to ally with her. Then, she'd decided that if she had a plan for what to do when she got there, _that_ would suffice. Ursula had agreed to help her find Cruella, but she'd had her doubts about whether Lily would be able to convince the animal charmer to join them. Cruella, for all her melodrama and love of cheap gin and expensive furs, was not a stupid woman. Shallow, yes. Also selfish and conniving—not that Ursula had a real problem with those traits. But there was no way that Cruella would jump on Lily's bandwagon if she didn't think that there was something in it for herself. She'd not only declared herself to be 'in', she'd procured the vellum Lily needed to transcribe the spell that would allow them into this 'Storybrooke' in _hours_. Back when they'd (mercifully briefly) shared an apartment upon arriving in this realm, Cruella had needed three quarters of an hour to make _Minute_ _Rice_. She had no problem speeding about in her car, top down, hair—and fur stoles—flying in the breeze. But under her own power? If the woman had been granted a pouch full of magic beans, she'd waste them in a day—in her own house, just to save herself the bother of walking from room to room.

Sitting in the hotel room on her twin bed, Ursula studied the young woman hunched over the writing desk, watching as she carefully, meticulously copied the symbols on her paper onto the vellum. And she made her decision. She didn't know whether this scheme would succeed, but she did know that she wanted it to. She wrestled with herself for another moment, asking whether she really wanted to gamble the paltry assets she'd managed to accumulate in this land for the chance of regaining some of the power she'd lost and the vengeance she'd been denied decades earlier. And then, she pulled out her phone.

"Hi, Jacintha? Ursula. Uh… listen, I really appreciate your looking after my fish while I'm away and I was wondering… Something's come up. I'm going to be out of town a bit longer. Do you think you'd mind—?" She heaved a sigh of relief as her next-door neighbor rose to the bait and promised to continue tending the aquariums. "Thanks. I don't know when I'll be back exactly, but I'll be in touch when I do." She ended the call, took a deep breath and exhaled. She'd made her decision.

 _Storybrooke. Lily will finally meet her mother. And Captain Hook and the Dark One? Will finally meet my tentacles._ She looked out the window at a January snowfall and smiled. Revenge _was_ a dish best served cold, after all…


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Passing reference to _Beyond Witch Mountain_ (Disney, 1982) and to Uncle Bené's grandson Gregory.

**Chapter Twelve**

"Well," Lily sighed, finally pushing the chair away from the desk, "that's that. I think. I mean, it's not like I can actually read this stuff; I just copied over in ink what I copied in pencil from those books in the first place. If I messed up then and wrote the wrong symbol or left something out…"

Ursula held out her hand for the vellum. "I can't speak to missing passages. You're the only one who saw the original. But I don't see anything here that's making me squint and think it's not right."

"You can read what it says?" Lily asked, passing it to her.

Ursula sighed. "After a fashion. Fairy and Mermaid are…" she drew her eyebrows together in a frown as she tried to think of an analogy. A moment later, her lips curved in a smile. "Well, I'd say they're about as related as English and German. There are a lot of common root-words and shared vocabulary, for all they may look and sound different at first blush. And, like Cruella said earlier, spells are generally written in Middle Elvish. That's an older form of the language and the words are harder to understand, but it's even more similar to Old Mermaid. So I can _kind_ of get it. To a point."

"So, like if I tried reading Shakespeare without the annotations?"

Ursula thought about that. "Maybe a bit harder than that. Try… somewhere between the Canterbury Tales and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight." At Lily's blank look, she shook her head sorrowfully. "Not a fan of English Literature, I take it. Ah, well. At any rate," she went on, "while I can't give you a word-for-word translation, I can get the gist and it certainly _reads_ like something a sorcerer would write."

Lily blinked. "You've… read a lot of sorcery? I'm sorry!" she added quickly. "I guess I never thought that…"

Ursula smirked. "You do know that they called me 'Ursula the Sea _Witch_ ,' right? They weren't kidding. Yes, I know a bit of magic," she confirmed. "Fortunately. A talent I've always possessed. Now, maybe I'm not in the same league as your mother when it comes to sorcery, but even so. Water magic? Protection? Heart-ripping? I can get by." She sighed. " _If_ I'm in a land where magic exists."

"Well," Lily said, "we're going to a town that can only be accessed by magical means. Maybe that magic isn't just ringing the boundaries. Maybe it's _inside_ , too."

Ursula was still a bit nervous about raising her hopes too high. They always ended up dashed in the end. Still, she found herself smiling at the possibility. "First things first, kid," she said finally. "Let's find the place and cross the boundary. Don't expect too much beyond that." She paused for a moment, then smiled. "But if you're right… we'll have those heroes wrapped around my suction cup before they know what's happening."

The malevolence of Lily's answering smile was so like Maleficent's that it almost made the Sea Witch's breath catch.

* * *

Belle had the apartment to herself when she closed the library that evening, but not for long. Astrid bustled in, excitement practically radiating from every pore. "I have a job!" she exclaimed breathlessly.

"You do?" Belle perked up at once. "Astrid, that's wonderful! When…? How…?"

Astrid laughed. "I was waiting for Leroy to get off work and I went back to that diner for another milkshake—uh, I took the money out of that change jar, like you said I could," she added a little nervously, her gaze flickering toward the kitchen, where a blue ceramic ginger jar sat on a corner of the countertop.

"That's fine," Belle reassured her. "But the job…?"

"The job," Astrid nodded. "Yes! Well, I was having the milkshake and Mrs. Herman came in and she was looking frazzled. She was saying that, as much as she loves children, six of them going through the terrible twos at once was a bit much. And… I've always been good with children. It's why I thought I wanted to be a fairy godmother in the first place. But I realized that, wings or no wings, I can still work with children. So…" her smile grew wider, "I start tomorrow. We're going to try it mornings for a month. And then… we'll see. I mean, I do still have a bit to learn, but I really think I can do it."

"Of course, you can!" Belle exclaimed.

"So…" Astrid hesitated. "So, I'll be able to pay rent for my share of this apartment. I mean," she continued hurriedly, "I mean, I know you didn't say anything about it, but I've been staying in your home, eating your food, reading your books—"

"Astrid! I love sharing books!" Belle protested. "And as for the rest—"

"Please, Belle," Astrid pleaded, "let me contribute _something_."

Belle hesitated. "All right. For now. Whatever you think is fair. I mean, Rumple owns this building; he's never charged me rent in the first place. But I'm going to be moving back in with him soon and if you want to stay on, I guess he'll expect some sort of payment. I'll talk to him," she added. She knew how her husband generally felt about fairies, but she also knew that his stance had begun to soften somewhat, at least, with regard to Flora, Tinkerbelle, and even Fauna. And Astrid _had_ left the convent after a showdown with Blue. Maybe Rumple would appreciate that enough to charge Astrid a _reasonable_ rent.

But any further thoughts on the matter were cut short when the fairy leaped forward and engulfed her in a hug. "I'm so happy for you!" she gushed.

And Belle laughed and hugged her back.

* * *

In the back room of the shop, Rumple sat on a wooden stool with a low, curved back, drop spindle in one hand, and a piece of yarn roughly a foot and a half long in the other. This wasn't the sort of spinning he'd learned as a boy, but he'd caught on quickly enough, once Flora had shown him how. At any rate, the wheel still brought him too many bad memories of the year he'd spent as Zelena's slave. The drop spindle had no corresponding ill effects.

It only took a moment now to attach the leader yarn to the spindle and set it twirling. He reached into the basket beside him for a bit of combed wool fiber and joined it to the leader, twisting the spindle all the time. It was a challenge keeping the thread even as he added more fiber, but it was one that he was more than up to—which was more than could be said about the _other_ challenge he'd set for himself today. He closed his eyes and reached into the basket again for more fiber, trying to lose himself in the soothing rhythm. Almost unconsciously, he rocked slightly back and forth, controlling the twist with one hand, pinching the thread and drafting out fiber with the other. And all the while, reaching out toward a door that he knew still existed in his mind, if he could only find it again.

The thread was as long as his arm now, and he stopped to wind it on the spindle shaft—a narrow cord of undyed silvery-gray wool. He'd expected as much, though he'd dared hope for better. He had the feel of the spindle now, but there was something missing. He reached for more fiber and began again.

Nearly an hour later, he was winding more thread with a sigh. He was beginning to think that the Apprentice had been wrong. That the Darkness had simply been tired of its previous host and looked for someone weak enough to give into its blandishments, no more, no less. The only thing unique about him had been his desperation and the motivation to do what needed done to transfer Zoso's Dark power to himself.

And then he blinked. Hurriedly, he held the last two or three inches of thread taut between the thumb and index finger of each hand as he examined it more closely, squinting a bit as he leaned in.

He hadn't spun a particularly thick yarn. Knitted, he imagined it might give five or six stitches to the inch. But right at the end of the yarn, only in the last two inches or so, some of the fibers bore a metallic glint. And he'd taken particular care that there were no metal fibers at hand when he'd begun.

So were the tiny sparkles he now saw in his yarn simply gold dust that had collected in this workshop from previous spinnings... Or had he _made_ them happen now?

A wondering smile stole onto his face. He wasn't sure if he'd done it. But if he had, it was only a matter of time until he did it again. And if he'd done it once... Then he _did_ have magic, even without the Dark One's power. And with time and practice, he would be able to unlock it consistently and by design.

For now, though, he could feel a tension headache coming on. As eager as he was to continue, the work would have to wait. But perhaps, in the interim, it would be worth perusing some new texts. And if he set out to acquire them now… Yes, the little gnat was probably at the hospital. And in her absence, he rather thought that someone else at the convent might not reject his request out of hand.

On his way out the door, he called to Henry to lock up if he hadn't returned by closing time.

* * *

Tony Castaway sat on a bench in Madison Square Park, cupping his fingers around an empanada he'd bought along his way. Tia was late, but driving in Manhattan was never easy. He resisted the urge to reach out to her with his mind. Even the best driver could run into trouble from a moment's distraction and while Tony had no qualms about getting into a car with his sister behind the wheel, he couldn't truthfully say whether she was the 'best' driver or merely 'very good'. She'd gotten her license on her second attempt, though, and he'd had to take the test five times before he'd passed. And then he'd moved to a city where traffic was always heavy and parking was always expensive, so it was fair to say that he was out of practice.

Of course, there were ways to compensate for that, but using his abilities had a price. His resources were finite and if he wasted them keeping a car under control when he could be using his eyes and hands, then he might not have enough in reserve if he needed it later.

Uncle Bené hadn't asked for assistance in… well… ever. At least, not from him and Tia. Not since he'd needed them to recover the grandson they'd never knew he had, but been called away before he and Gregory could be reunited.

_"We never knew you'd had kids!" Tony had exclaimed._

_"One," Uncle Bené had corrected. "A daughter. I was… not much older than you. My master had sent me on a journey in search of an ingredient he needed for his work. It was common to the Pebble Islands, but best found in the rainy season. I'm not certain if you're old enough to recall, but that region was prone to monsoons and flash floods. I took refuge in a cave above the high-water mark and found it already occupied by a girl my own age with similar instincts for shelter._

_"We shared our stories to pass the time. As well as our food. And… other things." He smiled a bit shamefacedly. "We were both young. And I'll confess it never occurred to me that anything had come from our time together. Until I returned to the Pebble Islands during Malagant's rise, nearly two decades later. Alysande had married another by then. Our daughter was nineteen, already a wife herself, and mother of a boy not yet a year old." His voice caught. "My grandson. Gregory."_

_"What happened to him, Uncle Bené?" Tia asked gently._

_Bené sighed. "He was on the same vessel on which we left Camelot, but in a different pod."_

_"Not…?" Tia's voice trailed off._

_Bené nodded. There was no point in rehashing his earlier rashness. If they'd only remained inside the pod like most of the other refugees, the cloaking technology would have shielded them from Earth's sensors and they would have been retrieved like most of the other pods were, once the other vessels reached the landing site and were able to launch a rescue mission. Worried that they'd run out of oxygen before they were found that he'd elected to get the children to the surface and into the lifeboats. It hadn't been a terrible idea. The rescue mission hadn't found one of the pods in time and the children inside had, for whatever reason, not attempted to leave until it was too late, if they'd tried at all. But another pod—the one Gregory had been on—had drifted southward and beached—still cloaked—nearly 120 miles from where Tony and Tia's raft was intercepted. Both groups of children were assumed to have been shipwreck survivors, a guess not all that far removed from the truth, and while no craft was ever found, somehow nobody asked many questions._

_Tony sometimes wondered whether they all hadn't instinctively used their abilities to stifle certain suspicions on the part of the local authorities. At least a dozen children in each pod old enough to understand that their fate was uncertain, each one thinking something like, 'Please don't hurt us, please let us be safe, please believe we're just kids', and, in the case of the second pod, whose passengers hadn't been spelled into forgetting their origins, 'Please don't think we're from a different realm altogether'… Well, it would explain how they'd managed to avoid being held in some government lab or worse. They'd probably never know for certain and, after all this time, it probably didn't matter anyway._

_"I've been trying to find him since my return to this realm," Bené continued. But my time draws short. Soon, I shall be needed elsewhere."_

_"I don't understand," Tia said, speaking for both herself and her brother._

_Bené smiled. "In time, you will. I hope that the three of us will be able to find him quickly. But if I'm called away before we do, then it will fall to the two of you to complete the mission…"_

And he had been called away. Tony and Tia had found Gregory and brought him home to Misty Valley. But for almost a decade, there'd been no word from Uncle Bené. Until the day that he received an alert about a research center in New York that was seeking a new director. And the email had been forwarded from an address he didn't know, but using a cipher he recognized at once. Uncle Bené was back.

Tony's instructions had been straightforward: run the center—easy enough after his studies in management and business administration—and keep an eye out for anyone seeking to examine two specific tomes at the same time. If anyone did request those volumes, he was to allow them access as he would any other, but alert Uncle Bené via email at once and await further instructions.

When he'd called Tia, he'd learned that Uncle Bené had contacted her as well.

That had been over fifteen years ago and he'd almost forgotten about it until Carey had received that request. And now…

Now, he was waiting for his sister to pick him up so that they could help Uncle Bené against a foe he didn't think he could handle on his own. Tony was trying not to worry about that. Not when he could just worry about where the heck his sister wa—

"Sorry I'm late!" Tia dashed up, slightly out of breath. "I just had a hard time finding a parking spot; the nearest lot was full. Come on. I'm parked over on East 21st."

 _Okay. Maybe now_ was _the time to worry about what sort of threat might be too big for Uncle Bené to manage by himself…_

* * *

Rumple stopped off at home first, checking the collection of spell books in his basement in hope that he might be spared a trip to the convent. The results were less promising than he'd hoped. He'd never restricted the contents of his library to works of Dark wizardry; most spells had elements that were neutral or could be repurposed for his ends. However, it seemed that when he'd been freed of the Dark One, he'd also been shriven of certain magical basics.

He could feel his frustration levels climbing and he knew he couldn't afford to let loose with so many rare, fragile, an irreplaceable manuscripts about. His gaze fell on the stereo system in the corner. He didn't think he'd played it since he'd regained his memories with Emma's first arrival in Storybrooke, but it ought to still be in fine working order. And some music might be precisely what he needed to calm his nerves. He looked at the CDs stacked neatly beside one of the speakers and, after a moment's reflection, selected Grieg. As the first strains of the _Piano Concerto in A Minor_ began to play, it occurred to him that the problem facing him now was rather analogous to attempting to play a piece on a piano with the white keys removed. While one could certainly play the C-major scale, and even a number of basic pieces without any black keys, the reverse did not hold true.

He shook his head, trying to avoid the obvious conclusion. He might have a number of tomes that pertained to Light magic, but they were advanced, meant to be used by one who had already mastered the fundamentals.

He knew the basics of general spell-casting; he'd applied himself to those early on, refusing to rely solely on the skills and knowledge that he'd gained with his Darkness. But perhaps, he reflected somewhat guiltily, he hadn't worked at them as hard as he might have, knowing all the time that magic was his to command, with or without intensive study. He'd focused on acquiring more spells, tracking down rare components, and forging his own enchantments. But perhaps, in his quest for a way to reach his son, he'd hurried past the dull foundations of the art, intent on mastering the advanced sorcery that would be of more direct use.

He was paying for that oversight now.

And if he was to reacquire magic at this point—and be able to use it reliably instead of in random spurts and flashes (and occasional golden glimmers in his handspun yarn)—he would need to truly master those foundations. In Light magic.

And unfortunately, if he didn't have the requisite tomes in his possession, then the convent was the only other place in town where he could hope to find them.

* * *

Blue returned to the convent in a better mood than she'd been in weeks. Really, this was the happiest she'd been since the Dar—since _Rumpelstiltskin_ 's return. She'd felt no small relief when she'd believed him gone for good, and into a land without magic as she'd intended nearly two centuries earlier. She hadn't wanted to believe that Belle and the others would bring him back; she knew that it would only be a matter of time before he'd be conjuring up some Dark scheme or other. And knowing his animosity toward her, perhaps she might have been excused a sense of foreboding when she'd learned that he'd returned after all.

She'd done her best to mitigate the threat, of course. In her opinion, the savior could likely handle the Dark One and she'd be on her guard. But Pinocchio had always been somewhat gullible and prone to over-confidence. If she'd expressed her concerns, she had no doubt that the young man would shrug them off. So, rather than trouble herself with _that_ pointless exercise, she'd taken the necessary steps. She might not know what the Dark One was plotting, but she couldn't risk his hurting Pinocchio. So, though it had pained her, she'd done her best to remind the former puppet of his past experiences, hoping he'd make the connection and realize the danger.

She hadn't planned on Rumpelstiltskin divining the situation first. And she certainly hadn't expected Snow White and her husband to take his side against her. Still, she'd accepted Snow's rebuke with as much good grace as she could and tried to fulfill the terms of her prescribed penance. At least, she'd intended to until she actually _met_ Zelena.

Still, things seemed to be looking up on that front. The witch had actually been, well, almost _pleasant_ today. Perhaps it had simply been the squalor of her surroundings that had accounted for her ill-humor in the past and, now that Blue had given her the agency and ability to rectify that situation, she'd be more open to rehabilitation going forward.

Yes, Blue thought, as she pulled open the convent's front door. She might have questioned Snow's judgment in laying this challenge upon her, but now that she was finally making some headway, perhaps she could admit that the young princess's instincts had been correct. Maybe, Blue reflected, she had been overly hasty in considering the witch past saving. Maybe…

She froze.

What on _Earth_ was the Dark One— _former_ Dark One, she reminded herself—what was Rumpelstiltskin doing in _her_ domain, standing in her very foyer?

* * *

Rumple hadn't been fully certain what sort of reception he could expect at the convent. While he'd deliberately planned his visit to coincide with the time when Blue was most likely to be at the hospital, he knew that old reputations—particularly those as notorious as his—died hard. And, it needed confessing, just because he was no longer the Dark One didn't mean that he had any warmer feelings for fairy-kind in general. That said, he was somewhat better-disposed toward certain _specific_ fairies than he might have been in the past.

Tink had greeted him with a warm smile which only widened when he explained the purpose of his visit. "Elvish spell books?" she'd repeated.

"The more elementary the better, I'm afraid." Rumple confirmed with a self-deprecating smile of his own.

The warmth in the blonde fairy's voice didn't waver, even as her merry expression turned serious. "Don't be," she said. "I don't know how many people I've seen fail because they were too afraid or embarrassed to ask for help. Wait here. I'll be back in a few moments." She gestured toward the polished wooden bench against the foyer wall. She took several steps, then turned back to face him. "I'm sorry," she said. "Could I offer you some refreshment?"

Rumple shook his head. "Thank you, no," he returned. "But the book would be appreciated."

"Of course." She moved off again.

Something made him call after her, "I must confess to having felt no small surprise to see your name added to a…" he hesitated, "…a-a roster that was handed me together with a contact number. While I appreciate the gesture, it's… well… a trifle unexpected."

Tink walked back to him. "On the ship from Neverland," she said quietly, "for all I try to make a point of not eavesdropping, it wasn't a large vessel and I couldn't always avoid hearing conversations that weren't meant for my ears. From what I did overhear… Well. I've always been a believer in second chances."

"Some might say that my subsequent actions wasted that opportunity."

"Some might," Tink acknowledged. "I've got this nasty habit of not paying attention to sentiments I disagree with. Or did you not hear how I lost my wings and found my way to Neverland in the first place?"

Regina had told him of her past history with the fairy. He'd been able to guess the broad strokes of what must have come afterwards from Reul's reaction when she'd seen Tinkerbell in Storybrooke. "I heard," he admitted. "I take it you haven't learned your lesson?"

Tink rolled her eyes ceiling-wards. "I'm afraid I'm simply an _abysmal_ student," she replied with an anguished wail that was too over-the-top by half to be mistaken for genuine. A moment later her sunny smile was back. "And for your sake, I suppose that's fortunate. Wait here."

This time, Rumple let her go, a bemused expression gracing his face. He settled back on the bench, but after a few minutes, he felt the need to get up and move about. He wasn't at ease in this place where the Reul Ghorm's influence seemed to seep out of every crack and corner. The pious saints—a legacy of the first Curse when this cloistered building had truly been a convent—seemed to peer down at him from their gilt-painted frames with _her_ sanctimonious smile, silently judging and finding him wanting. He got up from the bench and began pacing the length of the foyer.

So lost in thought was he that he didn't hear the front door open behind him, nor realize that anyone had come in, until a voice practically hissed, "What are _you_ doing here?"

* * *

It took Tink longer than she'd expected to find the spell-book. She'd carried it with her to Neverland when she'd lost her wings, hoping against hope that she could still work some small magic with it. But belief in ones abilities was the first step and after Blue had expelled her, that belief had been badly shaken. When she'd regained it, she'd resumed her studies almost where she'd left off and the little leather-bound hardcover with leaves and flowers embossed on the spine had been relegated to a packing box in the narrow closet of her new room at the convent. She'd amassed several such boxes.

Finally, though, the book was in her hands and she made her way triumphantly back to the foyer. As she walked down the hallway, she could hear voices ahead. And while she was still too far off to hear the individual words, the tones—one hard and accusatory, the other quiet and conciliatory—were clear enough. She quickened her pace.

"Here we are!" she announced briskly, drawing both Blue's and Rumpelstiltskin's attention. "Sorry for the delay."

"Green," Blue looked at her coldly, "I'd hoped I might expect better of you in light of your past history."

For a moment, Tink felt herself falter. Then something about the resignation in Rumpelstiltskin's brown eyes seemed to add steel to her spine and resoluteness to her voice. "My history?" she repeated, almost too innocently. "Surely you aren't referring to my insistence that Regina might find her way back to the light? Because I think we've flown over that particular patch of moss already."

Blue lowered her voice, but it was plain that her words were intended for their subject to overhear as well. "Surely you can appreciate the danger in giving _him_ access to magic!"

"Light magic," Tink replied, still smiling.

"Any magic is too dangerous in his hands. Clearly you have no idea the lengths of which he's capable. He—"

"—is standing not three paces away," Tink cut her off. "You needn't carry on as though we're alone."

She turned to Rumpelstiltskin and met the surprised approval in his eyes with an apologetic smile. "And now, I'm doing it, too, of course." She held up the spell book. "Kitchen magic," she added brightly. "And quite elementary, I'm afraid. Most of us learn these spells even before our real training commences. But if you're hoping to launch some scheme in motion by un-curdling milk or… or… keeping ground spices from losing their bite after six months, I suppose I'll be properly impressed."

"Green! I forbid this!" Blue exclaimed, even as Rumpelstiltskin reached for the small volume.

Tink shook her head. "I'm sorry, Blue. I made a promise and even you can't force me to renege on it. Why if word got about, I can't see how anyone would ever believe in me again." And she had. A fairy's word was her bond and when she'd agreed to fetch the spell-book, it certainly hadn't been necessary to add, 'I promise' to the statement. Such was understood.

"I don't believe in you, now," Blue rejoined icily.

For a moment, Tink seemed to wilt. Then her eyes narrowed and, before Blue and Rumpelstiltskin's eyes, she shrank to just over five inches in height. A pair of wings sprouted from her back, somehow poking through the fabric of her blouse and blazer without tearing it. A broad grin split the fairy's face. "That's quite all right," she said calmly. "It seems it's sufficient that I believe in myself." Her expression turned pensive for a moment. "And now, I wonder whether that wasn't always so."

She hovered for a moment in front of Rumpelstiltskin. "If you need some help getting started," she said, "you needn't have any compunction about asking me. There _is_ a bit of a trick to that un-curdling spell that frustrated me at first." She smiled once more and looked at Blue.

"I suppose I'm banished again?"

Blue seemed to cloak herself in serenity once more, but it was a threadbare cloak. "No, Green," she said primly. "Some disciplinary measure will be warranted, of course. I'll summon you when I've worked out what it shall be. But I think it best you remain and continue with your studies for now." She gave the fairy a thin smile. "I pray your faith in the former Dark One is not misplaced. But if it should be," she went on pragmatically, "it will likely take all of us to thwart his schemes."

"I'm right here, dearie," Rumpelstiltskin murmured, and there was no mistaking his amusement.

"Then you know we'll be vigilant," Blue countered with more than a little smugness.

Rumple made a scoffing sound. "I'd scarcely expect otherwise. Well," he slid the book into an inner jacket pocket. "Since I have what I came for, I'll take my leave." He nodded to Blue. "Being in your presence has been, well," he smiled, "as pleasant and edifying as always."

His smile was warmer when he turned to Tink. "I thank you for your assistance, Lady Bell," he said formally. "And your offer."

* * *

Rumple was still smiling as he made his way to his car. A glance at his wristwatch told him that it was past time for Henry to have locked up, so there was no returning to the shop now. But he still had time to return home, shower, and change his clothes before Emma and the others came 'round to take him for supper.

* * *

He wasn't much for small talk, but it didn't seem to matter that he spent most of the evening just smiling and nodding. The conversation ebbed and flowed about him and, unlike past occasions where, even when he'd attended, people had spoken around him as though he wasn't present, he had the sense that his input would be welcomed tonight… if he had anything worth saying.

Still, as the evening wore on, he got the impression that there was something else worrying on the Nolans' minds. Finally, when the dinner plates had been removed and they were steeping their teabags while waiting for dessert, he fixed each of them with an inscrutable look and remarked, "One can't help noticing some preoccupation on your parts. Is everything quite well?"

David and Snow looked first at him, and then at each other.

"Yes," David said quickly.

"No," Snow said at the same time.

The two looked at each other once more.

"Yes," Snow amended.

"No," David spoke over her.

Rumple sighed. "May one assume that there's room for improvement, then?"

"Mom, Dad…" There was a note of warning in Emma's voice.

Snow let out a breath. "It's… we're trying not to fall back into old patterns. And we didn't just invite you to dinner because we wanted something from you."

"But you do want something," Rumple stated.

"If it's possible," David admitted. "But if it isn't, we'll understand. I'm not even sure if it's something you can do any—" He caught himself, embarrassed. "If it's something you can do," he repeated firmly.

So. Magic was involved. "Well," Rumple said somewhat waspishly, even when I was the Dark One, I was no mind-reader. What is it you're after?"

And still, they hesitated. Finally, Snow seemed to gather courage as she closed her eyes and gripped the edge of the table with both hands. "We made Emma a promise recently. One we want to keep. Only," she opened her eyes, "we don't know how to start."

Rumple gave a slight nod, indicating that she should continue.

"Thirty years ago," David went on, "we gave our daughter her best chance by stealing someone else's."

"We want to find out what happened to Maleficent's child," Snow said. "Can you help us?"

Rumple regarded them silently for a moment. And when he spoke, it was with far less hostility than he might have in the past. "Well," he said, "I won't waste time telling you your aims are admirable, if a trifle reckless. There's no reason to believe that Maleficent's spawn would be any more forgiving of your actions than your own daughter was initially. In fact, considering that her offspring's darker side is at least twice what it ought to be, one might expect a far _less_ forgiving nature."

"We've considered that," David nodded.

"Then consider that it might be better to leave the child where they are."

"Easier," Snow corrected. "Not better. Is there a way? I mean… Maleficent's dead. Since her child would be her heir, would that mean that a locator spell might work if we could find something of hers here? Since whatever Maleficent owned would pass on to her child, I mean."

Rumple raised an eyebrow. "That… is a very imaginative solution to the situation. Not that it would work; the child would, at the very least, need to have been in possession of the artifact, however briefly, at a juncture when it was legally theirs. You banished a hatching egg," he reminded her with a half-smile. "No help there, dearie."

"Well," Snow said, sounding disappointed, but not surprised, "if that child has our daughter's darkness, could we use that? Sort of like blood magic only…?" She cast about trying to find the right words. "You know what I want to ask, don't you?"

Rumple nodded. "I'm afraid it wouldn't work," he said gently. "The offspring in question may have Emma's potential for darkness—which may or may not have been fully realized, I might add—but for blood magic to be effective, one does require that they share common…" His voice trailed off as realization struck.

"Rumpelstiltskin?" David asked after a moment.

"There may be a way," Rumple whispered. "Blood magic _would_ work."

"But there isn't anyone here who shares the child's blood," Regina, silent until now broke in. "Or do you mean to say that the father has been here all along? Because I think I would have noticed a second dragon in town."

"As to that," Rumple returned, "I have no idea who the father might be or if he's present. But we don't need him." He smiled. "Not when we already have Maleficent."


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Chapter Thirteen**

 

"Wait," Emma said with a frown. "Maleficent's dead. I-I mean, I ought to know. I killed her."

Rumple nodded. "I'm well aware."

"I didn't think magic could bring back the dead," David said with a puzzled frown.

"Present company excepted?" Rumple asked smiling archly.

David reddened slightly and looked away from him, diverting his glance for a moment to a nearby table where Henry was sitting with Nicolas Zimmer and a few other kids his own age who had come in about twenty minutes earlier and invited Henry to join them. "I guess so," he muttered.

Rumple's smile, though still jovial, took on a more serious note. "The laws of magic have a bit more flexibility when it comes to magical beings. Not a great deal of it, mind you, but there's still a degree of mutability. But then," Rumple smiled, "you needn't just take _my_ word for it." He turned to Regina. "Correct, your Majesty?"

Regina sighed. "When I wanted to retrieve the failsafe from under the library," she admitted, "I needed to create a diversion to get to it. Dead or not, Maleficent was still guarding it, and any attempt to remove it would… wake her up."

"Wait," Emma said, "what do you mean… 'Dead or not'?"

Regina was silent for a moment. Then she took another breath and said, "Well, technically, she's neither."

"What?" Snow breathed.

"Maleficent's immortal. Killing her… doesn't automatically cause her to die."

"Hang on," Emma fixed wide eyes on the queen. "Are you trying to tell me she's undead? Like… like a vampire or a zombie or something?"

"Not like a vampire or zombie," Regina replied, "but yes, I suppose that 'undead' would be the correct term. She's currently in a dormant state and, since the enchantment only awakens her when the failsafe is threatened, and the failsafe is no longer in her domain, she ought to remain so."

"Ought to?" Emma echoed nervously. "Seriously? Defeating her the first time took almost everything I had, and now you're telling me she could come back?"

"From what your parents just related," Rumple broke in, "I believe that they're hoping for it. But," his expression was now deadly serious, "for what it's worth, I share your misgivings."

"Misgivings noted," David said, "but if there is a way to revive her, I think we need to know."

Rumple sighed. "As you like. Maleficent can be resurrected with the blood of those who wronged her most." He glanced at Emma. "For the record, dearie? You don't fit that criterion. Defeating her in a duel when your only viable options were to kill or be killed? Hardly a great wrong to preserve your life when she would have slain you, had you not." He turned again to Regina. "The same goes for you, your Majesty. Though I do grant you'd be a better candidate. Imprisoning her in an underground warren for twenty-eight years? Based upon some personal experience of much shorter duration," a slight smirk twisted his lips as Snow and David each looked down at their cake plates for a moment, "I'm willing to gamble that tossing her a light repast afterwards wouldn't begin to make up for that sort of suffering; particularly since he got away in the end."

"I'm missing something, aren't I?" Emma remarked.

This time, Rumple's smirk was more pronounced. "Ask the captain when you see him next. I'm certain he'll be happy to share."

"I was a different person then," Regina murmured with a sort of weary resignation. "Not that I'm making excuses, but I'd have gone a different route if I had to do it again today."

Emma blinked. Then her expression hardened. But before she could say anything further, her mother spoke.

"Us," she said nervously. "David and me. We're the ones who wronged her the most."

Rumple chuckled, but there was no good humor in it this time. "If you're suggesting that kidnapping her infant, promising to return it, corrupting it, and through your actions, separating parent from child for decades has sent your names to the top of the list, well, I'd have to agree."

"So, we can bring her back," David said.

"You can…" Rumple hedged. "But be advised that nobody I know has ever accused Maleficent of having a forgiving nature. And if my own feelings are anything to go on, well, my antipathy for a particular fairy has only intensified through the centuries after she took _my_ child from me."

"Uh…" Emma cleared her throat nervously. "Neal told it a little differently. Sorry." She added quickly.

Rumple acknowledged her correction with a slight nod and an inscrutable expression. "While the Blue Fairy may have given him the bean so that Bae would have a means of freeing me from my Darkness, knowing now what I didn't know then, I think it's fair to say that she manipulated the situation more than I'd guessed at the time. And as she has encountered several of my predecessors, it'd be disingenuous to claim that she had no way to predict how the Dark One would react to any ploy to remove his power. Between that and," he shook his head, "knowing what she knew of me, and of my experiences when once I'd held such a bean in my hand in earlier years, let's just say that she must have has some inkling of how I'd react to the plan she suggested to my son. Or, let us say rather that while she might have _hoped_ otherwise, she had to know the odds that events would unfold in the way they did." He sighed heavily. "At any rate, if you resurrect Maleficent, there is an excellent chance that she'll incinerate you before you can begin to explain your desire to rectify that past wrong. My advice to you," he smiled, "would be to let sleeping dragons lie."

"Noted," David said again. "But if we wanted to try, are there precautions we can take? Some way to temporarily neutralize her, long enough so that we can say what we need to?"

Rumple looked from him to Snow and shook his head with a weary sigh. "I suppose I can try to find out," he allowed. "But don't expect an answer too quickly. And don't be so certain that it'll be one you want to hear."

"I think," a new voice broke in startling them, "that whether we want to hear it or not is about to be rendered academic. And," the Apprentice continued as he drew closer, "two pairs of hands may halve the search time."

"Wait," David said, "what's so urgent?"

The Apprentice regarded him soberly. "I've received word that your dormant problem may not remain dormant for very much longer."

* * *

Blue knew that she was being too lenient this time. Green's query had been quite reasonable: her obstinacy _was_ grounds for banishment. So, the fairy wondered, what had stayed her hand? Perhaps, she thought with some irritation, she'd been thinking to compensate for that earlier occasion when the judgment she'd meted out had been—as she now believed—too swift and too harsh. She'd been furious then, and the sentence she'd decreed at that time had been one passed in anger.

She'd been angry again today, and she'd been wise to refrain from deciding anything until she was calmer. Except, Blue reflected, she _had_ made a decision. She'd decided that, however she might choose to penalize Green, banishment was off the table. Foolish. This wasn't the first time that Green had challenged her authority. In the past, she'd merely gone behind her back to do it. But in recent weeks, first with granting Belle and the savior access to the library and now this business with the spell book, Green had defied her to her _face_. She was disrupting the serenity of their order and she ought to be expelled from it.

And yet, their order hadn't been at all serene lately, had it? First her method of protecting Pinocchio had been challenged—and when word of her actions had trickled back to the other fairies, there had been questions from that quarter, too. Oh, they hadn't brought their misgivings to her directly, but there had been whispers behind her back. And then, when she'd taken a temporary leave and appointed an interim head to fill in for her, while she'd deliberately chosen a capable and well-liked fairy for the task, she allowed that she hadn't expected Merryweather to be _quite_ so capable and _quite_ so well-liked.

It was fortunate that Merryweather had also proven to be quite loyal, with no aspirations to lead the order on a more-permanent basis.

But then there was the business with Nova flouncing off and not—as Blue might have expected—shamefacedly creeping back with an embarrassed apology. And, like Merryweather, Nova had been well-liked.

Blue sucked in her breath and let it out. There. That was the problem. Merryweather, Nova, and now Green, all were popular and held in good regard by the rest of their order. Blue's authority had always required that she hold herself aloof from the others and now, that distance was hurting her. The fairies she'd heard whispering in the corridor the other day hadn't been the first or the last to intimate that they preferred Merryweather's leadership to hers. Nova's presence was keenly missed. And Green? Green had quickly become among the more sought-after for counsel and conversation once she'd rejoined their order after those long years in Neverland. And if Blue banished her now, she had to acknowledge a real possibility that the whispers and murmurs against her would grow louder and more overt.

She didn't crave power or authority. Had a more-able candidate to lead their order existed, she would have happily deferred. But while Merryweather had potential, Blue knew that the younger fairy wasn't ready to deal with a real crisis, should one arise. And none of the others were even close to qualified. So, while another fairy might have stepped down and secluded herself somewhere to brood for a time, Blue knew that she didn't have this luxury. For the good of the order, she needed to lead it. And likewise for the good of the order, she couldn't simply exile anyone who might be perceived to oppose her. Far better to adopt a gentler approach in dealing with Green's insubordination and show that she in no way felt threatened by the novice fairy's actions. Because she didn't. Why, the very idea was absurd.

She broke out of her ruminations when she heard the knock on her office door. Well. At least, Green had learned to be punctual. "Enter," she called.

Green sauntered in, her face penitent, but her walk altogether too jocular for one in disgrace. "Submitting myself for disciplinary action, as ordered," she announced crisply.

Blue nodded, her expression severe. "As you have chosen to part with your primer of kitchen magic, one can only assume that you've become expert in such spells. Therefore, you will confine yourself to the convent kitchen for the next three months, and you will confine your spell-casting during this period to such spells as were in that volume."

Green winced, but her voice was steady as she lowered her eyes and replied, "Yes, Blue."

Blue allowed herself a faint smile as the novice left. True the penalty was light relative to the offense, but she had little doubt that Green would be bored to tears inside of a week. Perhaps that would suffice to get her to fall into line. Blue hoped so. Trying to get through to Zelena was challenge enough without facing difficulties on the home front.

* * *

"Her daughter is coming here," Snow repeated softly, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

"She won't be pleased to find out about her mother," Regina murmured. She turned angry eyes on the Apprentice. "And _you_ gave her the directions."

"I gave her a map," the Apprentice replied, "her family history, and the means of finding this place. But that was over a decade and a half ago. At that time, her mother was very much alive and, given the nature and longevity of dragonkind, I had no reason to anticipate that state changing."

"Really, dearie?" Rumple snorted. "I don't know whether you're aware, but this town boasts no small number of heroes. Heroes have an annoying tendency of slaying dragons."

The Apprentice nodded. "I'm not gainsaying that. In my defense, I really hadn't expected the young lady in question to take this long to start her journey." He nodded again, this time in Emma's direction. "Much as you were in years past, she's found it difficult to remain in any one place for any great length of time."

Emma frowned. "Did the curse do that? Make everyone from the Enchanted Forest want to stick together, even if they didn't know it?"

Rumple cleared his throat. "I didn't intend that for _everyone_ ," he murmured. "But I needed to ensure that _you_ would find us. I didn't specify how it would happen. I certainly didn't anticipate," his gaze flicked fondly to his grandson, still in deep conversation with his school friends, "that you would have a child whom Regina would later adopt and who, ten years later, would bring you here. Fate appears to have a fine sense of irony on occasion. I suspect, however, that had Henry not found you in Boston, your… bail-bonding would have set you on a journey to coastal Maine later that same evening. Or you'd suddenly have been seized with an irresistible urge to hop into your little yellow car and take a night-time drive on Interstate 95 and see where you'd end up." He smiled. "The Curse would have brought you here before your 28th birthday ended; the only question would be whether it would have interpreted that deadline as midnight, or as a full 24 hours from the precise time of day that you were born."

"Correct," the Apprentice said. "The Curse wouldn't have drawn Lilith here." He fixed Emma with a penetrating stare. "But y _ou_ have."

* * *

They were stuck in traffic on the Triborough Bridge when Tony slapped his hand to his forehead. "We have to go back!" he yelped.

Tia sighed. "You forgot your toothbrush? We're not exactly going to a third world country, and even if I hadn't packed one for you along with some of your old clothes, I think even third world countries have basic hygiene products these days."

"Worse," Tony clapped a hand to his forehead. "I mean, no, I don't have my toothbrush—thanks for bringing one—but that wouldn't matter; I bet every service station and rest area on the interstate sells them. But the spell, the one that this… this…" It wasn't easy getting the crumpled paper out of his pocket with his seatbelt on, but he worked it free eventually. "This Starla Hogyndraig copied over… I was in such a fluster when you called to say you were coming—and incidentally, you never told me you learned how to teleport—"

"You never asked," Tia shrugged. "It was faster than booking a plane. Cheaper, too."

"I shouldn't have had to ask! Anyway, I just grabbed my coat and ran to meet you—"

"Wait," Tia took her eyes off the road for an instant to throw a horrified look at her brother. "You mean, you forgot your harmonica?"

"No!" Tony said. "I got that. But the spell! I never copied the spell!"

Tia sighed. "Don't worry about that, little brother. The protection spell on the town is basically a magical lock to keep outsiders away. And I've always had a talent for opening locks." She smiled. "Hey. You knew that while you were acting as Uncle Bené's watchman out here, I was taking advanced studies back home. What did you think they were in?"

"I thought you were getting your Ph.D. in history online through Kansas State!"

Tia laughed. "I did that fifteen years ago! Tony, I've been exploring my powers, learning how to use them in ways we never thought about or had to when we were kids. I must have told you."

Tony started to shake his head, but then he paused. Come to think of it, she _had_ mentioned something like that in passing some time back. He'd just blipped past it. His own gift, while powerful, wasn't anywhere near as strong as Tia's. He'd learned enough to keep it under control and stop it from leaking out at inconvenient times—not really so difficult, since he had a lot of trouble with even simple spells if he wasn't using his harmonica to cast them. In fact, the only time his abilities gave him problems these days was if he just wanted to _play_ the instrument without doing anything magical with it. He hadn't touched the thing in ages; residing in the outside world among people who didn't share his talents, it was much easier to live like they did. But Tia had stayed behind in Misty Valley at the foot of Witch Mountain, among their people. He shouldn't be surprised that she'd sought higher instruction. He sank back in his seat and exhaled noisily. "So you…?"

"I know how to neutralize the protection spell. At least temporarily, so we can get inside this Storybrooke place. I'm not sure if I'll be strong enough on my own, but as long as you've got your harmonica and you can follow my lead…"

Tony grinned. His raw power might not match his sister's, but the harmonica was a pretty good equalizer. "I think I can handle that," he said, brightening. "Just like the old days."

* * *

"I don't understand," Emma said immediately. "What do you mean, _I've_ drawn her here?"

The Apprentice fixed her with a penetrating stare. "When your parents fed your darkness into Maleficent's daughter, your fate and hers became inexorably tangled. Tell me," he said abruptly, "of all the places you could have run to when you were thirteen, why did you set your sights on Minnesota?"

"How did you know that?" Emma demanded. Then her eyes widened. "Wait. You said her name is 'Lilith'. _Lily?_ "

"You've already met her?" David blurted.

"Yeah," Emma said, still looking stunned. She turned to Regina. "You remember that friend I mentioned to you? The one I pushed away when I found out she'd lied to me?"

Regina nodded. "That was her?" she guessed, her expression mirroring that of the sheriff's.

"Maleficent's kid. Yeah." She turned back to the Apprentice.

"I didn't exactly plan on Minnesota," she told him. "I was just… trying to put as much distance as I could between me and that group home in Boston."

"And yet, you stopped in Hopkins, Minnesota."

Emma shook her head. "I guess there's no point asking how you know that either. I was at the Greyhound terminal, looking for the first bus out of Boston. I didn't have enough money for LA, so I settled for Minneapolis. And once I got there… I don't know. I didn't really care where I was; it was early in the morning and I needed a place to sleep," she admitted with a slight laugh. "I didn't see Red Roof In as an option; I wasn't even fifteen then and I sure didn't look old enough to check into a hotel on my own." She shook her head. "A good thing, too. Even back in 1998, they probably would've wanted a credit card for a deposit. Anyway, the Greyhound station in Minneapolis had connections to local buses and I had some money left over. I figured I could get on a bus with a good long route and take a nap; it wasn't like it mattered to me where I was, just so it wasn't Boston." She shrugged. "There was a 612 loading passengers at the stop. I joined them and found a seat. When I opened my eyes again, it was just pulling up to Excelsior Boulevard in Hopkins. I met Lily a few hours later."

"How?" the Apprentice probed, still fixing her with that stare.

Emma found herself unable to break eye contact. Still, her face reddened as she related the circumstances of that meeting. She'd come a long way from the thief and con artist she'd once been, but that didn't mean her past didn't embarrass her.

"…Once I realized she'd been lying to me," she finished, "I just… I couldn't deal. She was pleading with me to forgive her. Part of me wanted to, even then. But I was too angry." She shook her head. "She went back with her dad and I…"

"…Were sent back to Boston?" the Apprentice asked.

Emma blinked. "No. They were going to ship me back, but until the paperwork got sorted, I went into the system in Minnesota. I ended up with a family in Mankato. It was supposed to be temporary, but… well, after Lily showed up again and things went south," she sighed, "we parted ways at the bus stop. She got on and I… hitched my way to Oregon."

"And after that," the Apprentice remarked, "you never really settled down anywhere."

"Not until here," Emma confirmed. "Wait. Are you telling me…?"

"That when you left Phoenix for Los Angeles, she was already there, working at a filling station in West Adams."

Emma's jaw hung open. "But… But I was in Artesia." She turned to her parents. "That's not even thirty miles distance from West Adams!"

"After that, you moved to Henderson, Nevada. Six weeks later, she was in Las Vegas. She stayed less than five months. After that, she ran into some trouble with a local casino owner and made her way to Los Lunas, New Mexico."

Emma frowned. "Just how far is that from Albuquerque?" she demanded.

"Less than twenty-five miles. Shall I continue?"

"Tallahassee?" Emma asked hesitantly.

"You were in Oak Ridge for two years. She moved to Falls Chase three months after your arrival and left two weeks after you did."

"How?" Emma demanded. "How is this possible?"

"As I told you," the Apprentice replied calmly, "your fate and hers are intertwined. You are drawn to one another, even as you are repelled."

"Where is she now?" Snow spoke for the first time.

The Apprentice turned to her. "At the moment, I'm not certain. But she was in New York City less than a week ago. And before that, she was living in Lowell, Massachusetts."

Emma looked like she'd been sucker-punched. "That's only a stone's throw from Boston." She looked around the table sharply. "And not all that far away from here, either."

"So, she's coming here," Regina said. "Assuming that this 'Lilith' you mention is the same person as that other name you mentioned. This… Starla, is it?"

"Starla Hogyndraig," the Apprentice nodded. "Hogyndraig is Welsh for 'Dragon's daughter'."

There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Well," Rumple ventured slowly, "I suppose that renders academic the question of raising Maleficent to find her."

"Now, hang on," David said. "We may not need to go searching for her, but once she arrives and finds out that her mother's dead, if her intent isn't hostile already, it will be then."

"And raising Maleficent could well mean that mother and daughter will present a united front against us." Rumple's expression was deadly serious. "Bringing her back from the dead by no means guarantees that she'll be any friendlier now than she was when you," he turned to David, "force-fed her a certain magical potion, or when you," he nodded toward Regina, "fought her for possession of the Dark Curse." He looked at Emma. "Or when you slew her," he added, a bit more softly.

He looked at the Apprentice. "Or are my concerns misplaced?"

The Apprentice shook his head. "They are, I'm afraid, quite valid."

Regina released a small huff of irritation. "Could someone please explain to me why we're all so nervous about one young woman being able to cross the town line? I mean, even if she has magic, it's not as though she'll realize it or know how to use it." She looked at Emma. "From what you told me later, it took my mother's attempt to rip out your heart before you discovered that you had the power to stop her and even then, you couldn't begin to use your magic at will until Neverland."

"Magic comes in many forms," the Apprentice replied. "Spells are but one of them. Other forms are more… innate."

Rumple sucked in his breath and his eyes grew wide. "Maleficent's daughter," he said slowly. "Are you saying that she can also turn into a dragon?"

"She was hatched from an egg," the Apprentice reminded him. "It would be foolish to discount the likelihood."

Regina shook her head, dismay plain on her face. "I think that things just became a great deal more complicated."

Rumple's lips twitched into a mirthless smile. "I think that might just  prove to be the understatement of the year."


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some dialogue taken from S1E21: _An Apple as Red as Blood_. I'm taking the tack that, back in S1, Regina wouldn't have tried to get into Mary Margaret's apartment again after planting the knife, and therefore wouldn't be aware of August's added security. Also, I quoted a few lines from the last chapter of my earlier fic, _Heartstrings_ near the end.

**Chapter Fourteen  
**

The zipper sounded impossibly loud in the small apartment at the back of the library. Belle didn't have many possessions; unlike the other residents of Storybrooke, she hadn't spent twenty-eight years in a home of her own, replete with furnishings, clothing, keepsakes, and mementos. She'd obtained more than half of her wardrobe from Rumple that first day, when Jefferson had freed her from her cell in the hospital basement and the curse had broken. She'd lived in his house for nearly a week and then, he'd arranged for her to take possession of this—already furnished—apartment. She'd bought a few minor items: some throw cushions for the sofa, a welcome mat, another bookcase… Rumple had given her a number of knickknacks to decorate her mantle shelf—including the ginger jar she used for petty cash. Father had given her some potted plants and vases for cut flowers. But, once she'd boxed up her books—minus the one she'd loaned to Astrid—apart from the bookcase, all of her worldly possessions fit easily into the lone suitcase.

It wasn't even her suitcase, she reflected with a pang. Well. She supposed it was, since it belonged to Rumple, she was his wife, and he certainly wasn't selfish with his possessions. Not his non-magical possessions, at any rate.

She looked around the small apartment once more. Already, it felt alien to her, a temporary dwelling she didn't expect to return to. The few signs of habitation that remained—a pink hooded sweatshirt on a kitchen chair back, a 'to do list' on the refrigerator door, some cosmetics in neutral tones on the bathroom ledge, were Astrid's.

The fairy was out with Leroy tonight and Belle meant to be gone by the time she returned. She glanced at her wristwatch, just as someone rapped politely on her back door. Or was it the front door? She wasn't entirely sure; it was the door that opened on the lane behind the library, not the one that opened into it. She just thought of it as the back door or, on occasion, the private entrance. And now, she was leaving, so it didn't really matter how she thought of it anymore. She pulled the door open and smiled at the man on the other side. "Good evening, Marco."

Marco took one hand off of the hand-truck he was gripping to doff his cap. "Are you ready, Belle? Or do you still need some time to finish up?"

Belle looked around the apartment once more and smiled. "No," she said softly. "I'm all finished here."

"So, just the boxes and the bookcase, then?" he asked genially. "I'll load them into the truck for you."

Belle moved aside to let him enter. "I can help you," she murmured.

Marco made a scoffing sound. "Please. The day I can't manage these few things will be the day I turn my business over full-time to my son." He bent to lift one of the boxes and grunted in surprise.

"Please," Belle said. "I'm sorry; that must be the one with my dictionaries."

Marco shook his head. "It's not a problem. But," he added, "I suppose if you insist…"

Belle forced herself not to smile as she helped him load up.

* * *

Ursula shook her head disapprovingly as she watched Cruella load up a capacious cloth shopping bag. "When I said that the price we got for this room was a steal, I didn't mean we should walk off with the towels," she snapped.

Cruella didn't turn around. "Really, dahling," she drawled. "We're on our way out to who-knows-where and we're not about to be out in public until we know the lie of the land. And if I'm going to be living in hiding," she said decisively, "I'm going to need sheets and towels."

"Wait," Ursula said. " _Sheets?_ Oh, no, no, no, 'darling'. That's going too far. There is no way in the watery abyss that you're going to be able to fit _those_ in that little tote."

"But they will fit in a garment bag," Lily said, startling them as she closed the door behind her.

Ursula turned around to face her. "Do I want to know what you're going to do with the clothes you had inside it?" she asked. She'd wondered why the young woman had trundled the thing along on the train from Manhattan; Lily's clothing so far had seemed to run extremely casual. Nothing that would suffer from being stuffed inside a knapsack, to her mind.

Lily smiled. "Who says I had anything in it?" she asked.

"You planned this?" Ursula demanded.

Lily shrugged. "Not this exactly, but I thought the bag might come in handy if we needed to store something." She cocked her head quizzically. "Cruella's right. We're going to have to hole up somewhere, we may not have all the essentials, and if we take these sheets and towels, we'll be miles away by the time they realize anything's missing. Or would you rather grab everything we're going to need once we get where we're going, when we already have no idea what to expect? I mean, what if, once Emma broke the curse, the place went totally medieval and started putting shoplifters in the stocks? Or hanging them?"

Ursula glared and spun away from both women. "Just remember," she snapped, "if you get caught, I don't know either of you."

"Dahling, until you can dress a little more fashionably," Cruella rejoined, as she squeezed the clock radio into her bag, "I'm not exactly about to broadcast our acquaintanceship either."

Ursula flung up her hands in irritation and went to see if the other women had already cleared the toiletries out of the bathroom.

* * *

Emma looked around the table, her eyes stopping finally on her mother. "I know you're trying to make amends for the past," she said. "Don't think it's not appreciated. But I'm not so sure bringing back someone who can roast you alive is a good way to start."

"I defeated her once," David reminded her.

"Yeah, and I killed her once. That doesn't mean things will go as well if we face her again. Seriously? It's great that you want to do this, but… don't."

"Emma's right," Regina said flatly. "You two need to look at the big picture. Maleficent's likely to be fighting mad if she comes back. If we can't calm her down, then after she's done making martyrs out of the pair of you, she just might decide to take a leisurely flight across town." She paused for a beat before adding, "Raining fire down on everything she passes over. If the two of you want to risk your own lives, that's one thing. But you're not about to risk the rest of us. You want to wait for Tiny to raise another crop of beans and find a nice empty realm where you and Mal can have it out? Fine. Otherwise, we leave her where she is and you can try out your apologies on her daughter when she arrives."

"I'll be there, too," Emma said. "We were friends once. Maybe we still are. Or can be."

Rumple nodded. "I think that's a wiser solution than awakening what is nigh-certain to be an angry dragon. Something I'd hesitate to consider, even if I still had my former magic. Without it," he shook his head, even as he turned once more to Snow and David, "what you suggest is tantamount to suicide."

He turned then to the Apprentice with a slight frown. "In fact, from everything I've read on the subject, if Maleficent's daughter does manage the transformation, she will have the strength and powers of a mature dragon, but the knowledge and control of an infant. In other words," his frown deepened, "virtually none to speak of. Subduing her is likely to prove rather difficult."

"Well, we can't just kill her, if that's what you're suggesting," David said.

"We might not have a choice," Regina said quietly.

The Apprentice cleared his throat. "Fortunately," he murmured, "I've summoned reinforcements. They're likely to arrive here at some point tomorrow…"

* * *

"Is it just me," Emma remarked, as they were getting their coats on, "or are we getting more traffic across the town line now, when Ingrid's barrier should technically still be keeping the outside world outside? Not that I'm complaining," she added hastily.

"It's an interesting observation," Gold nodded. "And while there's no cause for complaint, one might argue that any change to the status quo might be a reason for concern. This town was never meant to accommodate outsiders."

"I'm not sure Maleficent's daughter qualifies as an outsider," Snow murmured. "I mean, she was born in our land. Or at least, she was in the middle of… hatching."

"Yes, but the Apprentice was not. And these two allies of his… how much has he told them? How far can we trust them, for that matter? It sounded to me as though he's been out of contact with them for a number of years. Perhaps their allegiances are not as he believes."

David sighed. "It wouldn't be the first time we got suckered," he admitted, "but for now, let's prepare a welcoming committee. Hope for the best, but be ready for the worst." He looked at Gold. "If you have any suggestions, we're happy to hear them."

Gold shook his head. "I'll need to give the matter more thought. But speaking from personal experience? If Maleficent's daughter means us harm, we may need to subdue her before any attempt to dissuade her can be undertaken. But if she herself is uncertain of her motives, greeting her with suspicion and hostility is likely to provoke a reaction in kind."

"And we may not know her intentions until it's too late," Regina said.

"It wouldn't be the first time that sensible caution backfired catastrophically." He glanced at Emma. "Just how much faith do you place in that talent of yours?"

Emma hesitated. "It's let me down before," she admitted, "but if it tells me someone's lying, it's always been right before. It just… won't always tell me." She gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry to bring up a couple of bad memories but," she turned to Regina, "When you gave me that turnover and told me you were okay with the compromise I was suggesting, I didn't sense any lie. I guess, because you assumed I'd eat it and be… sleeping."

Regina shook her head with an arch smile. "Not exactly. If you'll play back the conversation, I think you'll find I never actually said I agreed to it…"

* * *

_The turnover was almost finished baking and Regina was thinking about how she was going to get Emma to eat it. The sheriff wasn't stupid; she'd be suspicious of any purported peace offering. Regina debated sneaking into the apartment and leaving it on the table with a forged note:_

Emma,

Thought you might like this.

—Mary Margaret

_No, too risky. If Mary Margaret came home first, the plan failing would be the least of Regina's problems. Once Emma and Mary Margaret realized that someone else had been in their apartment, they'd start trying to determine who. They'd probably recall that an alleged murder weapon had also been planted in their living space and wonder at a connection. And while Regina had needed to reach into another realm to retrieve the cursed apple, the fact that she possessed an apple tree would certainly arouse Emma's suspicions._

_She wished that the sleeping curse would work more than once on the same person. Then she wouldn't need to sign the note, and it wouldn't matter which woman ate the turnover. Either way, a thorn would be out of her side. But no, it had to be Emma._

_Leaving the turnover at the sheriff station was out of the question. There were too many cameras and, while Regina knew their blind spots, after Sidney's little stunt with the bugged flowers, she wouldn't put it past the sheriff to have rearranged them or installed new ones._

_Using Henry was completely out of the question. Sidney had taken numerous photographs when Emma had first come to town, including one that showed her son tossing away an apple that—going by the expression on Emma's face and the position of her hand—the sheriff had clearly been holding a second earlier._

_And then, the doorbell rang, she went to answer it, and found Emma on her doorstep._

_"We need to talk."_

_Regina didn't need to hide her surprise. But she forced herself to smile and invited Emma inside, thinking that maybe this was going to be a lot easier than anticipated. So, she heard the sheriff's hasty speech about ending their vendetta, her (unexpected) promise to leave town, and the terms of her agreement._

_She had to admit that they sounded reasonable. If Regina hadn't retrieved the apple, if the turnover wasn't already in the oven, she might even have accepted them. Or gone to her vault later that day to retrieve the heart of one of her former soldiers and instruct him to tamper with Emma's car. It was an old car. All sorts of things might go wrong with it, with nobody suspecting foul play. But if she miscalculated, if the soldier was sloppy…_

_She'd narrowly escaped implication in Katherine's disappearance. She didn't want to risk anything tying her to Emma. And so far as she knew, for all this realm's technological advances, there was no piece of scientific equipment capable of detecting a sleeping curse. Yes, when Emma was found comatose with the turnover beside her, there would be an investigation. There would be tests. But the only elements they'd detect in the turnover would be cinnamon… and raisins._

_"…Let's be honest," Emma was saying. "We both know the world where I'm not in his life no longer exists, and there's no one who can do anything about that."_

_The time rang then, finally, and Regina said quickly, "You're right. Would you mind following me for a moment?" And as she led her into the kitchen and took out the turnover, she continued, "So, what are you proposing?"_

_Emma shrugged. "I don't know. Just figure it out as we go."_

_"But he's my son," Regina stated, and Emma agreed._

_When the sheriff left, the turnover went with her._

* * *

"I never actually said I accepted your terms," Regina finished. "I just didn't make a big thing about saying I didn't."

Emma's eyebrows shot up, but she only nodded. "Actually, that proves my point. My talent can always spot a bald-faced lie. And," she tilted her head in Gold's direction, "after dealing with you a few times, I'll admit I've started turning words over in my head before taking them at face value."

Gold nodded back with a slight smile, completely unoffended.

"The thing is," Emma said, "when something is implied instead of said outright, my superpower won't kick in. And," she sighed, "just like with magic, a lot hinges on belief. If you believe that something is true when you say it, then whether it actually is doesn't matter. I'll read that as an honest statement. So," she took another breath, "if Lily lies to me outright, I'm pretty confident I'll catch it. But if she thinks she's telling me the truth or," she nodded toward Regina, "she words things in a way that I can misinterpret what she actually means, I could miss something."

"Does she know about your gift?" Gold asked seriously.

Emma sighed. "Yeah, I told her when we first met. Maybe she's forgotten, but I wouldn't bet on it. And the last time I met her? She was pretty good at keeping things from me."

"A pity," Gold replied. "I was hoping it might prove to be more of an advantage, but if she's aware of it, then she's likely to be on her guard."

"Well," Snow broke in brightly, "at least we know she knows. That's something."

"Moms!" Henry called, approaching at a run. "Is it okay if I go to the arcade with Nicholas and the gang?"

Regina considered. "Did you finish your homework?"

"Yes."

"Any tests tomorrow?"

"Nope."

She looked at Emma. "What do you think?"

Emma frowned. "Well, it's a school night, but it's still early. I… guess if he's home by ten?"

Regina's eyebrows shot up. "I would have thought nine-thirty, but since he's sleeping at your place this week…" She smiled at Henry. "All right. Ten it is."

Henry beamed. "Thanks, Moms."

"Ten," Emma repeated, firmly. "And call if you're running late!" she called after him as he jogged back toward his friends.

She shook her head with a smile when he pretended not to hear her, not missing Regina's nod of approval.

* * *

Ursula was grateful for her seatbelt. As soon as they'd hit the interstate, Cruella had accelerated to eighty miles per hour, windows open to the winter night air, as the wind whipped her hair back behind her.

"We're gonna get pulled over!" she warned, yelling to be heard over the gusts of icy air.

Cruella laughed. "Don't worry, dahling. The laser jammer is still under warranty!"

Ursula groaned and tried to pull her head down inside the upturned collar of her coat turtle-style. "I feel _so_ relieved," she muttered, wondering when and how she'd become the mature member of their ghastly little trio.

"Hey, kid," she called, trying to turn her head toward the back seat while keeping as much of it inside her collar as possible, "you okay back there?"

There was no response. Ursula glanced into the rearview mirror. "Lily!" she exclaimed, this time loud enough for the young woman to glance up, startled. She laughed incredulously. "How can you read and not be carsick, especially as fast as we're going?"

Lily shrugged. "High speeds never bugged me," she replied. "Give me a break; it's boring back here. I've already done the alphabet backwards and forwards."

"What?" She turned to Cruella. "Roll up the windows, Cruella; I'd like some intelligent conversation."

"I can hear you just fine, dahling," Cruella beamed.

"I said, intelligent, Cruella dear. Come on, it's freezing and we're not all wearing fur, here."

Cruella pouted, but she did roll the windows up. Ursula sighed with relief. "That's better. Okay, Lily, what were you saying about the alphabet?"

"You've never…?" Lily exhaled. "Just a stupid game I sometimes do on the road to pass the time. Looking at the road signs and trying find the alphabet in order. So, first I look for an A, once I find one, I look for a B. J's are pretty scarce. Sometimes, I make it harder; like it only counts if it's on a green highway sign, not one of the blue ones for tourist attractions."

"Scintillating, I'm sure, dahling," Cruella drawled.

"Well, as long as you find it fun," Ursula said dubiously, surprised to find herself siding with Cruella, as Lily went back to her book.

A moment later, the younger woman sat bolt upright with a loud expletive.

"Lily?" Ursula asked.

Lily sucked in another breath. "No way!" she exclaimed then, eyes wide.

"What?" Ursula demanded.

For answer, Lily passed her book—the same book she'd shown Ursula several days earlier—toward the front seat, her fingers, pressed to the inside back cover. "The… the endpaper was peeling away and this was underneath it..."

Ursula accepted the book and flipped to the back. "A map?" she said, looking at it.

"Of Storybrooke," Lily breathed.

"Looks like somebody didn't want you to have all the details until you were ready," Ursula murmured. Her eyebrows shot up.

"Cruella," she said, for once without condescension, "once we cross into Maine, get off the interstate and switch to Route One. It'll get us up the coast. Something tells me that these people might be watching the main road in. But Route One goes up along the shoreline. If there's a place where we can get off the road and onto the beach…"

"They might still be watching," Cruella warned, suddenly serious as well.

"They might. But we're in the northeastern United States in the middle of winter. The tourist season is over. The fishing season is _long_ over. And everything Lily's told us points to their not really expecting visitors to start with. Oh, they'll probably still be keeping an eye on the usual points of entry, though they might not bother with a regular patrol if security cameras will do. But we'll be likelier to avoid notice if we sneak in the back way, wouldn't you say?" She hesitated. "And if, when we get into town, we discover that there's more magic about than just the protection spell around the perimeter, the closer we are to the ocean, the better the chances of my being able to tap into some of it."

Cruella smiled slowly. "At least, with these temperatures, I'll be driving on snow and ice, not sand and mud. Route One it is."

* * *

Rumple was pensive on his drive home. As usual, the heroes had asked for his help. They'd been hesitant about it, far more so than they'd been in the past. But, refreshingly, they hadn't asked for more assistance than he'd been willing to give. Nobody had asked the price of his aid, neither seriously nor sarcastically. And when he'd voiced his reservations, they hadn't shrugged them off. Nobody had called his caution cowardice or expressed sorrow that, without magic—at least, so far as they knew—his ability to be of use to them was far more limited.

The town might be facing a new threat—or an old one—in short order. But for the first time, Rumple felt that, while he was no hero and doubted he ever would be, for once, he and Storybrooke's Heroes weren't merely uniting against a common danger. They were truly on the same side.

Unbidden, a wondering smile spread his lips. It froze slightly as he pulled up to his house and saw the light on in the living room. Belle had arrived. And as much as his heart leaped to know that she was there, he still worried. It might be too soon. It might be for the wrong reasons. It might be his usual fears and disbelief standing in the way of his happiness once more.

And he'd never know for certain if he sat out here in his Cadillac all evening. He drove around the corner to the narrow lane that led to his detached garage. Not entirely detached; an underground passage connected it to his cellar so that he wouldn't need to brave an icy path in the dark with his ankle. Still, it would have been a good deal easier if the curse could have given him a house with the garage attached. Or created a town in a warmer climate, where one could park out on the street in winter without concern for impeding an overnight snow plow. _Next time_ , he thought with no small irony. Meanwhile, if walking some fifty-odd yards from his car to his living room was the greatest hardship he'd need to face in the next week or so, he would count himself fortunate.

* * *

Belle had spent the better part of the last few hours settling in. For now, she'd taken back the room that Rumple had given her when she'd first emerged from the hospital when the curse broke. There would be time for greater connection in the future, but as much as she might have wanted to move completely back into his life and pick things up where they'd left off, she knew that Rumple was wise to maintain some distance, yet.

This second chance they were taking had not come about easily. And it had only come about when both of them had acknowledged that their previous relationship, for all the hope and promise that had gone into it, had never been as solid as either might have hoped. That first day in the shop after Rumple had felt recovered enough from his ordeal to reopen for business, they'd finally had their first real conversation since New York. And they'd finally admitted that things couldn't go back to the way they had been.

_"But, Belle,"_ Rumple had added, just when she'd finally been ready to accept that she'd truly lost him, _"would you truly want to? To a marriage built on a foundation of deception and distrust? One where we each hid the parts of us we didn't want the other to see, stifling them until—as you've just noted—they finally broke free from our control and lashed out in the most painful way possible? One where neither of us probed or questioned too deeply out of fear of what we might uncover? Because, that was what we had, wasn't it?"_

His words had struck a chord deep within her and she'd come face to face with a truth she'd been shying away from, nearly from the start. They loved each other, truly and deeply, but love alone wasn't enough to build a marriage on. Not when she was so certain of his feelings for her that she thought she could take them for granted, threaten to leave him if he didn't do as she wished, compel him to do her will when he would have refused, and then think that a tearful apology would wipe the slate clean. And not when he was so terrified of losing her love, so certain that—given his previous experience—she would eventually tire of him and walk away, no matter what he did, that he lied to her, tricked her, and eventually created a self-fulfilling prophecy.

But even as she'd admitted how right he was, she'd also caught the slightest note of hope in his words. Because love, however true, might not have been enough of a foundation to support a marriage all by itself, but it was a start. It was hope. And then, she'd heard her own voice saying, _"What if we were to start fresh? If we built a new foundation, one created from mutual trust and honesty? On talking things out instead of assuming we each know what the other would say. On…"_

And for the first time in weeks, she'd seen it. That plain, open, sincere smile that was reserved for her and her alone. And she'd known then that however long and hard the road ahead might be, the destination would be worth it.

She was reminding herself of that, now. Because Rumple keeping her at arm's length, only letting her in a bit at a time, and only so far and no farther… _hurt_. And as much as she told herself that after everything she'd put him through, it was understandable, even deserved, it still hurt. Just like it hurt that he was turning more to others for support, when once he would have confided in her alone.

Belle's hand flew to her mouth. _I wanted to be everything to him. I wanted him on_ my _terms and never once considered whether he had any of his own. Am I hurt now that he's shutting me out more? Or am I resentful that, with more support, he's less dependent on me?_ Her gaze fell on the mantle shelf, where Rumple had set the puppets she'd so recently made to try to convince him to give them another chance and she picked up the last one she'd crafted. 'The monster,' she'd called it. "I guess it takes one to love one," she murmured. "Because if I could take his love and use it against him so cruelly, then I deserve the title as much as he ever did." Her eyes grew wide. "But if he's no longer the Dark One… if he's not a monster anymore… then where does that leave me?"

Behind her, she heard the cellar door open and she whirled, startled, to see Rumple standing there, his lips parted in a welcoming smile and nervous hope in his eyes. "Belle," he greeted her warmly, slowly spreading his arms as though he couldn't quite be certain that such a display of affection would be welcomed.

She crossed the distance between them with alacrity and practically fell into his embrace. "Rumple!" she whispered, closing her eyes and tilting her face toward his for a kiss.

For a moment, all was right with them and the world. A moment she wished would never end.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: While not classic fairy-tale characters, "Amy" and "Perry" are vaguely inspired by (by which I mean, I grabbed their names for a couple of bit players) Princess Amethyst and Prince Peregrine/Algernon from M.M. Kaye's _The Ordinary Princess_.

**Chapter Fifteen**

Tony unlocked the motel room door with a pained smile. "You just had to stop in Salem, didn't you?" he demanded. "I mean, living at the foot of Witch Mountain isn't enough? You have to make it a theme?"

Tia laughed. "We had to stop somewhere. I teleported a couple of thousand miles today; caffeine only holds off the effects for so long. Or did you want me to risk falling asleep at the wheel?"

"I could have taken over," Tony pointed out.

"I know," Tia admitted. "Do you want to just keep going? I mean, we don't _have_ to stay; it's not like we're paying a fortune for the room."

Tony considered for a moment before he shook his head reluctantly. "I better not," he admitted. "I haven't been behind a wheel in a couple of years and I get nervous at night on the highway," he admitted. "Plus it's harder for me to sense ice ahead when I also have to focus on my driving."

"Same here," Tia replied with a smile. "Besides, I spoke to Uncle Bené when we stopped for gas in Hartford. He said it was better for us both if we hit Storybrooke after a good night's sleep. And I'd rather not deal with a dragon _and_ a migraine if I can avoid one by showing up eight or ten hours later."

"You never used to get migraines from using your powers," Tony said with a worried frown.

"I never used them to do so much in so short a time," Tia countered. "You remember Uncle Bené's first lesson, just after we got settled in Misty Valley, don't you?"

"How could I forget?" Tony nodded.

Tia chimed in with him as he chanted, "All magic comes with a price!"

* * *

"You've been awfully quiet tonight, sister," Leroy remarked. Then, frowning, "I guess I should have asked you before I brought you here. Probably wouldn't have been your first choice."

"Oh, no!" Astrid exclaimed, leaning toward him across the wooden table. "It's fine. I mean, I've never really been anywhere except Granny's and... and... there's this all-night diner—I don't even know what it's called, but it's near that kickboxing gym, so, well…" she smiled a bit self-consciously, "I guess, as small as this town is, there are still many places I haven't been and… and it's all so new to me." She hesitated. "Do… do you come here often?"

Leroy hesitated. "I guess I used to," he said huskily. "During the curse, I… liked my beer—and my whiskey—a little more than I probably should have. And after it, I guess old habits die hard." A slow flush came to his cheeks. "I guess if we're being honest, I started liking them before the curse, too."

Astrid's eyes widened. "Oh," she said. "Is that still… something you… do?"

Leroy didn't answer for a long moment. Then, finally, with a nervous frown, he said, "I don't really know, sister. Before I met you, I'd have a mug or two to relax after a hard day's work. But after I... thought that I was standing between you and your dreams and I stepped aside, it became less about relaxing and more about," his frown deepened, "trying to numb the pain in my heart that stabbed me every time I remembered the pain in your eyes the last time I saw you."

"But we're together now," Astrid said. "Aren't we?"

"I want us to be," Leroy said fervently. "But this," he gestured to the beer mug before him, "has become a habit. It's one I want to break. Trying to, actually. At least, I haven't gotten drunk or anything since time started moving again, but I don't know if my having a pint or two most nights is just... something I want to do, or something I _have_ to."

"Have you tried stopping?" Astrid asked. "I mean, just out of curiosity?"

"Yeah," Leroy replied. "Sure. I've gone a couple of weeks without it, no problem. But then I get back into the habit."

"Oh," Astrid said again. Then, hesitantly, "Is… Do you mean, you think it could be alcoholism?"

"I don't know," Leroy admitted, with a relieved look in his eyes. "It's something I've been doing for a long time to help me… deal, I guess. Under the curse, every morning, I woke up in a cell with Sheriff Graham telling me to behave myself and smile if I wanted him to let me out, and every night I came here and drank until I passed out." A faint smile came to his face. "I guess I might've gotten a little rowdy before the passing out happened. After the time started moving again?" he shrugged, "I guess I drank less than I had since we got to this realm, but more than I did back home. I don't _think_ it's alcoholism. I mean, it's not that I can't stop. I think that until now, I just haven't wanted to." He sighed. "But I remember watching some late-night movie about it," he added. "And I remember one thing some character explained," he continued carefully, "is that sometimes, people who have a problem with the drink will try to give it up for a time to prove that they don't. But they almost always go back to it. For me? So far, everything seems under control. But I don't know if it's because I haven't got a problem, or because I'm just... in denial about it. Not something we looked at the same way back home," he added with a mirthless laugh. He looked up a bit nervously then to meet her eyes. "I guess that's probably giving you some second thoughts about us."

"Not really," Astrid replied, and though she was smiling, her eyes were deadly serious. "I don't mind if you like a drink or two to relax. And under the curse… honestly, I shouldn't think that doing the same thing over and over again really counts as a problem, considering that every day was mostly the same. And the curse made us all, well, different. But if you do think that it's more serious than that," she wasn't smiling now, but she reached across the table and covered his hand with her own, "then please, tell me. Or tell Dr. Hopper. Having a problem doesn't give me second thoughts. Not doing something to try to fix the problem though… that's something else."

Leroy tore his gaze away from her for a moment and turned it to his half-finished beer mug. Then he pushed the mug away and smiled. "I guess I'm relaxed enough for tonight. Uh… you want to try some?"

Astrid's eyebrows shot up, but she gave him a smile that was equal parts joyous and nervous and she pulled the mug toward her. "I've never had any before," she murmured, raising it to her lips. She took a hesitant sniff and paused.

"You don't have to," Leroy started to say.

"I know," she smiled, and took a gulp. Her eyes widened and seemed to bulge slightly. For a moment, Leroy thought that she was about to spit it out, but she managed to swallow. Then she made a face, grabbed her nearly-finished milkshake, clamped her lips around the straw and noisily sucked up the dregs.

"I should've warned you," Leroy said, fighting a smile.

"No, no," Astrid said. "I love surprises. Well," she grinned impishly, "most of the time."

Leroy grinned back. She giggled. He guffawed. And then, still laughing, he said, "How about I go back to the bar and get us a couple of ginger ales? Uh, don't worry, sister. Those are just sodas. There's no real ale in them."

Astrid nodded. "I know," she said with a wide grin. "Just plenty of bubbles."

* * *

Belle went up to her room shortly afterwards. Rumple looked in on her a half-hour later and found her already asleep. He couldn't say as he was surprised. To hear her tell it, she'd been up early for that kickboxing class she was taking. And moving, in Rumple's experience, was always stressful and usually exhausting, even if one didn't have many possessions to pack up. Small wonder she was tired.

He was pensive as he walked the short distance from her bedroom to his. Coming home tonight, seeing her again, had been a moment of almost unfathomable joy. It was almost as though they'd never been apart, as though the lies and deceptions had never happened… as though he'd allowed True Love's Kiss its magic back in his castle in the Enchanted Forest.

And he wanted that moment, that feeling, to go on forever.

Maybe Regina had been wrong. Perhaps his usual fears _were_ letting him see danger where none existed. Possibly.

But he'd watched Henry's video, heard Belle's speech at the town line, and, although it had warmed his heart to know her true thoughts, he wasn't blind to the danger.

Belle had never truly learned to deal with the darker side of her makeup. She'd suppressed it. She'd ignored it. She'd denied it. She'd fought it. And, occasionally, painfully, she'd given in to it. But now, she was trying to accept it, as she was finally accepting him. And while he recognized and applauded the sentiment, he knew better than anyone that Darkness unleashed could easily overwhelm its host—whether it was a separate entity taking up residence in one's skull, or an innate part of one's heart and soul.

He recalled a conversation he'd had with Emma recently with regard to a person's potential for Light being equally matched by their potential for Darkness. And Belle's potential for Light had been— _was_ —so great that she'd even been able to break through _his_ walls to find the small scrap of him that the Dark One hadn't quite managed to overwhelm.

So. If she had that much Light in her…

Regina could still be wrong. He could yet be imagining problems where none existed.

But he'd have to be a fool to dismiss such suspicions out of hand. Especially given Belle's recent behavior. To say nothing of Fate's penchant for irony. He'd so recently attempted to Darken Emma's heart; even though he'd ultimately thought better of that goal, he'd be a fool to think that Fate wouldn't exact retribution for _that_ scheme by having the condition rebound upon one of the people he loved most.

Rumple shook his head slowly. It was only natural, when one was used to suppressing one's anger and resentment, for those emotions to erupt far more vehemently and violently than they might have, were they to be allowed expression at the proper time. It might be that Belle's ire—currently directed against Regina, the Blue Fairy, and her own father—was emerging now, precisely because she'd stifled it on so many other occasions. Perhaps, her outbursts, while uncharacteristic, were understandable—even normal.

Perhaps.

But his doubts kept him awake for some time, and the skin around several of his fingernails was red and raw before sleep finally claimed him.

* * *

The arcade was dimly-lit and noisy. Although no food or drink was permitted in the gaming area, the mingled aromas of freshly-popped popcorn, stale beer, and fish 'n' chips wafted over from the concession area. As Henry stood behind Nicholas and Perry, waiting for his turn at the Dragon's Lair game, he couldn't help but notice Cecily hanging back. "Uh… Amy," he nudged the mousy-haired girl with the upturned nose and friendly smile who stood next to him, "could you save my spot, please?"

Amy considered his request with mock-seriousness. "I suppose I could," she returned. "If you hurry back when I call you for your turn." She smiled knowingly. "And if it helps, Henry," she added, jerking her head in Cicely's direction, "she likes you. Good luck."

Henry's eyes grew wide. He hadn't realized he'd been _that_ obvious. But he grinned back and hoped that the low lighting was hiding the blush he could feel spreading across his cheeks. "Thanks, Amy," he mumbled, heading off in Cicely's direction.

"Cicely!" He hoped he wasn't being too loud, but between the music coming in over the speakers, the beeps, bloops, and explosions from the games, and the hum of conversation—to say nothing of the cheers and yells that punctuated each hurdle surmounted or high score achieved, he wanted to make sure she could hear him.

She did. "Henry," she said, stopping her slow creep toward the door.

"You okay?"

She sighed. "Yes. I just had a text from my mother, is all. She wants me to come home early. I've got to go."

"Cicely? Is… is anything wrong?"

The girl sighed. "I just… I love my brothers and sisters, but sometimes I wish I were an only child!" she blurted. "Or at least, not the oldest," she added. "There are eight of us all together and Mama needs me to pitch in. And usually, I don't mind, but…" She shook her head. "Not your problem. Sorry. I just thought I could have one night out with friends my own age and not have it cut short, but I guess that's not happening." She shook her head once more, this time a trifle wistfully. "I really wanted to try one of those," she said admitted, gesturing toward the games.

"You've never played?" Henry asked.

"We didn't have arcades in Sherwood Forest," Cicely said with a wry smile. "But Mama's putting the babies to bed soon, and Tagalong—uh, sorry— _Aggie_ wants a story, and I've got to help Skippy with his spelling and…" She shook her head again. "I just _really_ hope I don't have to quit the play. But Mama's already saying that the rehearsals are taking up too much time and they're only twice a week, now! When we get closer to the end of the year…"

Henry nodded.

"Anyway, I'd better go."

Henry looked at his watch. It was a quarter past nine. He glanced at the Dragon's Lair game, just as a loud whoop punctuated by a raised fist emanated from the Donkey Kong game beside it. "Cecily? Are… are you living in the forest? With Robin Hood's men?"

"Close enough," Cicely muttered. "I mean, we've got a house—it's just up the road from that empty farmhouse I heard a witch was living in a few months back. But it's going to take me more than half an hour to get there and Mama will scold if I'm late.

Henry hesitated for a moment. Then he cast one more look at the Dragon's Lair game, before smiling at Cicely. "Come on," he said, motioning toward the coat racks. "I'll walk you."

Cicely blinked. "Oh, no," she protested. "Henry, you shouldn't have to cut your night short, too. And it'll probably be colder on your walk back."

"Don't worry about it," Henry said. "My mom said to call if I was going to be late. I'll ask her if she can pick me up at your place in about forty-five minutes." He paused. "Or do you want to walk alone? I'm sorry; I'm not trying to be pushy. I just thought you might want company, but I guess you don't get much time to yourself, so if you'd rather—" He froze, feeling a light pressure on his arm.

Cecily shook her head. "No, I don't want to walk alone," she said. A dimple appeared in her cheek when she smiled. "You're not being pushy. And, actually, it might be kind of… nice… to talk to someone my own age for a change." And then she ducked her head shyly. "Unless you were just offering to be nice, but you don't really want to—"

"I…" Henry sucked in his breath. "Well, I guess I _was_ trying to be nice, but I do really want to. If you're okay with that," he added.

"I'm okay with it," Cecily nearly whispered. When she smiled again, the dimple was even more in evidence.

* * *

"I didn't realize some of this was private property," Ursula muttered, seeing the barbed wire fence in the headlight beams.

Lily made a scoffing sound. "Like anyone's going to be around at this time of year. These are mostly vacation homes. We've got them in Hopkins, Minnesota, too."

"Well, I'm not about to ruin the paint job on this beauty, dahling," Cruella said, stopping in front of the fence. "So, unless you've got a pair of wire cutters, I'm heading back to the road."

"Yeah, hang on," Lily muttered, unfastening her seatbelt and opening her door. "They should be in the makeup case in the trunk. You wanna pop it for me?"

Cruella's eyebrows shot up. "I thought I was being rhetorical," she remarked as she pulled her key out of the ignition and opened her own door.

Ursula sighed. "Just hope it's not electrified, or she won't be good for anything but eel chow," she said.

It only took a minute for the younger woman to snip the wire. "Don't go too fast," she cautioned Cruella as they got back into the car. "Betcha there's another fence at the other end of the property."

There was.

But it proved to be the last domicile they passed for several miles. The ground they were driving over turned rocky and Cruella muttered darkly with each jar and jolt. Until this point, there had been some sort of illumination, whether from bollards or the occasional lighthouse. Now those disappeared. They had the ocean on their right and rocky bluffs on their left. Rising up from the bluffs were coniferous trees, tall and densely packed.

After half an hour, Cruella stopped. "I'm turning us around," she said flatly.

"What?" Lily exclaimed. "You can't. We're almost there."

"Almost where, dahling?" Cruella demanded. "We're in the middle of nowhere following a map you found in a book of fairytales! We're chasing a dream and it's time to wake up!"

"Every story in this book is real!" Lily snapped. "I mean, you're in it, for crying out loud!"

"Lily," Ursula sighed, "Richard the Lionhearted is in _Ivanhoe_. On _Bewitched_ , Samantha Stevens once met Henry the Eighth. That doesn't make either of them historically accurate. I'm sorry, but… Cruella's right. This… Storybrooke isn't real. Or, if it is, we took a wrong turn somewhere."

"Where?" Lily shot back. "Because I don't see how we could have missed it; it's right on the coastline!"

"And it's a big coastline!" Cruella snapped. "Look, dahling, we're not in an all-terrain vehicle and I think we've done it enough damage for one night! We must be practically in Canada by now!"

"But…" Lily caught her breath. Her eyes widened. "Let me take the wheel," she said decisively.

"You _are_ living in a fantasy if you think I'm about to do that!" Cruella laughed.

"No, I'm serious. We're close."

"Lily—" Ursula said gently. "It's not real."

"The fact that you're both telling me that at the same time tells me it is," Lily countered. "Remember yesterday when you were explaining about protection spells? Going by the way you're talking now, I think we've just hit one."

Ursula's eyes widened.

"Of all the—" Cruella scoffed.

"No," Ursula said, cutting her off with a frown and gesture. "I-I think she could be right. There _is_ something about this place."

"It's deserted, desolated…"

"Lily," Ursula said, "that spell you copied. Pass it over."

Lily hesitated for a moment. Then she reached into her pocket and, somewhat nervously, handed her a small rolled scroll. Ursula unrolled it. "Here," she said, holding it out to Cruella, writing plainly visible. "Read."

"I told you," Cruella snarled, "Middle Elvish gives me a…" Her voice trailed off. She blinked once, and then rubbed her eyes, as though she was just waking up. A near-predatory smile appeared on her face. "Well, well," she purred. "Perhaps this isn't the wild goose chase I thought it was. Fasten your seatbelts, children." She laughed. "I mean, if you prefer that sort of thing."

She turned the key in the ignition before Ursula could comply, and the car sped away, leaving behind a trail of heavy exhaust.

* * *

"You're not upset about having to drive all the way out here, right?" Henry asked, as he got into his mother's yellow bug.

"Nope," Emma said easily. "I'd be a lot more upset if you hadn't called. Or if you'd tried walking back. Storybrooke isn't really a big place, but it's big enough for me to not want you coming home from its outskirts in the dark at this hour."

"I'm sorry you had to wait," he apologized. "But—"

Emma shook her head smiling. "I saw. Actually, I think it's great that you were helping her little brother with his homework."

"It was just spelling," Henry said. "He needed someone to quiz him and Cecily had to give the twins their bath."

Well, that explained why the girl had been dripping when she'd come out to say goodbye. "You like her?" she asked her son with a faint smirk.

"Cecily? Yeah, she's okay."

"Just okay?"

Henry groaned. "Mom! I'm thirteen. I'm not ready to start _dating_ or anything! Sheesh!"

"Okay, okay," Emma said, starting the car and trying to remember that line from Shakespeare about protesting too much. "She seems like a nice kid, though," she added.

"She is," Henry said emphatically. "And she's smart and funny and…"

_And you may be closer to dating than you think you are. But I think I'll let you find that out for yourself_ , Emma thought.

"Mom!" Henry groaned. "We're just friends, okay?"

"Huh?" Emma blinked. "I didn't say anything."

"You smiled!"

"Seriously? I'm your mother. I'm happy to see you."

"I'm happy to see you too, but that's not the way you usually smile."

Emma fought not to laugh. "I guess I'm just… realizing you're growing up is all. And I'm kind of looking forward to it." She watched her son's expression out the corner of her eye, as he turned her words over, looking for some hidden meaning. Finally he shook his head and leaned back in his seat with an annoyed expression.

_Yep_ , she thought to herself. _I've definitely got a teenager._ Her smile grew broader. Her son pointedly turned to the window.

* * *

"Stop the car," Ursula urged. "Now."

Cruella tilted her head in her seatmate's direction. "Should I slide the scroll over to you?" she asked.

"No," Ursula said impatiently. "It's not that. I just… need to get out and stretch my legs."

"Dahling, we're still in the middle of nowhere," Cruella said. "Can't this wait?"

"I don't think so."

Cruella sighed. "You shouldn't have had that large drink at the Mr. Cluck's two hours back, then," she retorted, but she did stop the car. "Make it fast."

Ursula nodded. "This won't take long." She got out and started walking toward the ocean.

"Dahling?" Cruella called. "Wouldn't the trees give you some privacy? Or spare us from certain ghastly si…" Her voice trailed off and her eyes grew wide. Ursula had shed her winter coat, discarding it on the snow-covered beach without a backward glance. From beneath her long wrap cardigan, something appeared to be bulging. The bulges began to move, working their way to the sweater's hemline and then, something emerged below it.

"Whoa," Lily breathed. "Are those…?"

"Tentacles," Cruella said, with an unaccustomed note of wonder in her voice. "Those, Lilith dear, are tentacles." She hesitated only a moment before getting out of the car herself. Lily trailed behind.

As Cruella approached Ursula, she broke into broad smile. "Some looks never go out of fashion, dahling," she said, in the friendliest tone that Lily had heard from her yet. Ursula said nothing, but in the moonlight, something that might have been a tear was glistening in her eye. "I wonder…" Cruella said hesitantly. She took a deep breath. Then she lifted one hand and thrust it toward the icy Atlantic, beckoning.

A row of medium-sized flat fish surfaced between the ice caps. They bowed once toward the three women, then submerged once more.

Cruella laughed in sheer delight. "It's back!" she exclaimed. "My control over animals!"

"Including winter flounder, apparently," Ursula said, but with far less sarcasm than usual." She turned to Lily with a grin.

"I'd say we've just arrived in Storybrooke. And it looks as though they've got magic."

Lily nodded, as Cruella added, "And now, dahlings, so do we!"


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Chapter Sixteen**

"Well," Ursula said, sobering quickly, "now what? We don't really want to announce ourselves until we know what kind of reception to expect."

"If Regina's still running things," Cruella said, "we might do rather well for ourselves. But if it's the Charmings or some of the other," her lip curled in a sneer, "heroes, we may not be so lucky. They came a tad too close to executing Regina when they captured her. Twenty-eight years under her curse might have taught them not to be quite so merciful. And once one begins dealing with one's enemies permanently… it can become something of a habit." She shook her head. "They know who we are, dahling. They know what we can do. And even though they may still believe in second chances and rehabilitation, and other pipe dreams, I'm not betting my life on it."

Lily nodded her understanding. "Heroes or not," she said tersely, "they kidnapped me, and it's because of them I grew up in a different _world_ without my parents. If that was what they could do when they were _merciful_ …" Her voice trailed off, but there was no mistaking her intent.

The other two women nodded back, their expressions grim. "We need to find someplace to stay," Ursula said. "It's too cold to camp out on the beach."

"Your magic can't…?" Lily started to ask.

"All magic comes with a price. Even if I could create heat, I'd be doing it with the winter temperatures fighting me. It wouldn't last long."

Cruella sighed. "It may be too cold to camp on the beach, but that also means nobody's likely to come by. I have a few furs in the trunk. I suppose we might as well wrap ourselves in them and sleep as best we can in the car. Meanwhile," she smiled, "I'll see if there are any non-hibernating nocturnal creatures in those woods and have them scout the area for a better place to hole up."

"Make sure they don't take that phrase literally," Ursula cautioned. "Moles and squirrels are likely to have plenty of options that are suitable for _them_ , but not for us. And I am _not_ going to hide away in some hollow tree or _burrow_."

Cruella laughed. "Do you imagine for one moment that I'd even consider such an arrangement, dahling? No, forest creatures know where humans reside, if only to steer clear of such places. And they also have a very good sense of when a place has been abandoned. Some isolated house or cabin away from prying eyes would be just the thing."

"If there is such a place here," Lily said.

"Well, let's be optimistic for the time being," Cruella said. "Unless you have a better suggestion."

Lily thought about that for a moment. "So, about those furs in the trunk… Got any wolverine? I heard it keeps your breath from frosting up," she said, as she turned on her heel and started walking back to the car.

Cruella laughed and, for once, it wasn't a malicious laugh. "That's very true, dahling. Unfortunately, the ones I had were seized before I could abscond with them. I do have silver fox, and I'll rent it to you for a paltry five dollars an hour or thirty till sunrise."

"Cruella!" Ursula snapped a warning.

"We're all down on our luck now," Cruella retorted. "A girl's got to earn her gin money somehow."

"Forget it," Lily sighed. "My winter coat'll be warm enough."

"Suit yourself," Cruella shrugged. "Ursula?"

Ursula laughed. "No need. I was born under the sea, and we have winters there, too." With an almost childish excitement, she pulled off her boots and unrolled her socks. Then, gleefully, she ran toward the ocean, seemingly oblivious to the snow on her bare feet. With an exclamation of pure joy, she dove into the water, which closed welcomingly over her. She didn't surface.

"Is she going to be okay?" Lily asked.

"She always has been before," Cruella replied, unconcerned. "But unless freezing is something you enjoy, I'd suggest getting back to the car, now." She started walking in that direction without a backwards glance, but her gaze was focused on the woods beyond the beach, and her face was locked in deep concentration as her lips moved silently.

Lily observed her curiously for a moment, straining her eyes to see if she could discern any animal movements in the trees. When she couldn't, she gave a mental shrug and hurried to catch up.

* * *

"So," Regina said with a slight eye-roll, "you've decided to ignore all sensible advice and continue with this idea. I wish I could say I was surprised, but I'm not. I was trying to borrow some of your optimism, though."

Snow and David winced, but there was no hint of doubt in either pair of eyes. "We made a mistake thirty years ago," Snow said resolutely. "We've tried ignoring it. We've tried hiding it. But enough is enough. Maleficent's daughter is coming and, to hear the Apprentice tell it, she's known about her history _and_ this town for over fifteen years. It may be dangerous to bring Maleficent back, but Regina, it may be more dangerous to leave her dead. You heard what Rumpelstiltskin said about out-of-control dragons."

"We don't know that she's a dragon," Regina pointed out.

"No," David said, "but we do know that magic can be unlocked by intense emotion. When I think about how it's going to feel for that young woman, when she arrives here, hoping to be reunited with her mother, only to find out the truth about what happened to her… If that won't unlock her power, nothing will. And I don't think I'm ready to gamble on 'nothing'."

"Of course, once we resurrect Maleficent, the first thing she'll want from us is vengeance," Snow said. "But if there's some way to-to restrain her temporarily, just long enough to listen to us when we tell her that her daughter's on her way and that we didn't realize what we were doing and…" Her voice trailed off and she looked away for a moment. Then she squared her shoulders and met Regina's eyes once more. "I know it's still dangerous. But this whole business is our fault to begin with and we have to, at least, _try_ to make things right."

Regina shook her head, but her expression was pensive. "There must be something in the water," she said at last. "Or the air. It's the only way I can explain this-this spirit of atonement that seems to be sweeping the town. Keep in mind that not everyone is as forgiving as you might hope." In an undertone, she added, "Rumple and I have already discovered that, at least to a lesser degree." She sighed. "The spell to resurrect her is simple enough. Give me a little time, though, and I'll see whether I can't complicate it a bit. If we wake her slowly, we might be able to arrange matters so that her mind will regain its alertness before her body does. So if, while she's still half-asleep, you start explaining yourselves, you might get the chance to finish. That still doesn't mean her first act upon coming fully awake won't be to roast the pair of you."

"I'll see if I can find my shield," David said seriously.

"Oh, don't bother," Regina said. "A magical force field will work better and I can craft one that will stand up to her, at least, short term. But the only reason I'm going along with this is that not waking her might be just as dangerous as what you're suggesting and I honestly don't know which way is better." Her eyebrows shot up at the twin sighs of relief that greeted her statement. "I suppose there's nothing I can say to talk you out of this."

"We've been up half the night debating," Snow admitted. "But this is still the right thing to do."

"Even if she kills you and destroys the town."

"You defeated her once to get the Dark Curse away from her," David said. "And you care about this town as much as we do, if not more. You won't let Storybrooke be destroyed."

Regina pressed her lips together and nodded once. "No," she agreed with a catch in her voice. "I won't." She took another breath. "Nor either of you, if I can help it."

Snow smiled gratefully. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet." She gave them a tight smile. "Well. It looks as though, once we've had time to meet our new arrivals, I'll be spending the next little while in my vault with my spell books. I'll contact you when I have something."

"We'll be waiting," David replied.

* * *

"So," Emma concluded, finishing up her grilled cheese, "any advice?"

Rumple shook his head with a self-deprecating smile. "I'm afraid I've nothing to add beyond a vote of confidence, dearie," he murmured. "Young love wasn't a topic I had much opportunity to discuss with Bae." He shook his head once more. "Though thinking back now, I suspect that there was a girl. And that he made several attempts to broach the subject. I fear I…" he sighed. "Well. There was a war going on. I suppose I must have been attempting to bury my head in the sand in the foolish belief that if I failed to note how my son was growing up, perhaps the duke's henchmen would as well." He closed his eyes. "It didn't work, of course. And, three days before Bae's fourteenth birthday, the girl was drafted to the front, and I knew they'd soon come back for my son, too."

"I'm sorry," Emma said. "I didn't mean to open up old wounds."

Rumple's lips twitched in the faintest of smiles. "Of course you didn't," he reassured her. A pause. Then he added, "Young Henry's much like his father was at that age, you know."

"I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that's a good thing."

His smile widened. "Oh, it is. So. You've met the object of his affections? And you've formed an impression?"

Emma laughed. "I guess you could say that. If they are affections. I mean, I could be reading too much into it. And even if I'm not, they're a couple of teenagers. Barely. I mean, it's not like we need to book the church and start measuring him for a tux, or… or… making over one of yours."

Rumple chuckled at that. "True enough. I'll rephrase. You've met his classmate? And seen enough of her to form an opinion?"

"I met her," Emma smiled. "As far as impressions go, she seems like a nice kid. Polite, a little on the shy side... Her mother's lovely, just busy looking after eight kids. I get the impression Cicely gets pushed into helping a lot. Which makes sense, but it can't be easy for her at thirteen."

Rumple shook his head. "No. I don't imagine it can be. Well. I think you're wise to step back and wait to see how matters unfold. And Emma? While Henry _is_ still quite young, there's no denying he's growing up. I believe it wasn't that long ago when you expressed relief that he was still comfortable confiding in you as he entered adolescence. Be prepared for him to become a bit more secretive. Particularly when it comes to matters of the heart. And try not to take it too personally."

Emma shook her head, but she was still smiling, albeit more ruefully. "I know. You're right. I guess I was just sort of hoping to skip that stage, even if I knew it was going to happen."

"It's part of growing up. It will pass." He paused for a beat. "After all, he isn't much like me."

Emma laughed. "Help yourself to some coffee, while I finish this," she said, holding up the last of her grilled cheese. "And then," she sighed, "I guess we'd better head for the town line to wait for those visitors to arrive."

* * *

When Emma pulled up to the town line, she found her parents and Regina already there, together with the Apprentice.

"I see that the welcoming committee has assembled," Rumple said dryly from her passenger seat.

Emma grinned. "I've got a feeling that so long as visitors to Storybrooke are such an irregular thing, this kind of reception is going to be… well, sort of… regular." She got out of the car and went around to the other side to help Rumple out.

As they watched, a blue Honda Civic turned onto the main road and drove slowly toward the line.

"Is that them?" she heard her father ask, as Rumple grasped hold of her elbow and emerged from the car, planting his cane on the ground as he did.

The Apprentice nodded silently, a small smile of anticipation gracing his features.

"I have the scroll," Regina murmured, reaching into her purse.

The Apprentice shook his head. "There's no need," he murmured. "Watch."

As the car drew nearer, Snow frowned at the haunting sound that emerged from a rolled-down window. "Is that… a harmonica playing?"

Rumple's eyebrows shot upwards as the air about the town line seemed to shimmer and shift. For a moment, the protection spell became a visible curtain of light. Pinprick holes appeared, giving the spell the seeming of a mesh net. Then the holes grew wider, the strands of light thinner, until it looked less like mesh than a wide-open gate.

"No way," Emma breathed, as the car rolled over the town line and halted. The music stopped. At once, the gate thickened and broadened. The spaces shrank. For the barest moment, they saw, once again, the solid-seeming curtain. Then the air shimmered once more, and the curtain vanished.

"Is it…" Regina ventured, "still there? Or did they just dissipate it entirely?"

"Still there," the Apprentice remarked. "And functioning as it was originally intended to. Less the dire consequences to those intending to leave, of course."

"You mean, we can come and go freely, but outsiders won't stumble upon us?" David asked.

"Essentially correct. Outsiders who believe in this town's existence will be able to reach it. But those who trust in official road maps will see what they expect to see in this part of the world. And as for those who have no expectations, who merely follow a trail out of curiosity, with no idea where it might lead them, most will find themselves rapidly losing interest in continuing onward the closer they come to the spell's borders. There will always be the odd stubborn soul who will press onward, the disoriented driver in search of shelter from a storm who registers only that the road on which they travel must lead someplace and pray that such place includes food and lodging for the night… but then, no spell is completely infallible."

The car doors opened and a man and woman who appeared to be in their late thirties emerged. The man was clean-shaven, apart from a pencil-thin mustache that might almost have been stubble. His brown hair was beginning to gray a bit about the temples, but his eyes were youthful and betrayed a certain excitement as he looked about. The woman wore her dark blonde waves in a long bob, and while her expression was a bit more guarded, there was no mistaking the obvious joy in her smile when she hurried toward the Apprentice.

"Uncle Bené!" she exclaimed, happily throwing her arms about the older man.

"Tia," the Apprentice greeted her warmly. He returned the embrace, then lifted one arm and held it out to the man who hung back a trifle self-consciously, before joining in the hug. "And Tony." He frowned. "Which surname do the two of you use these days?"

"Castaway," Tony smiled.

"Malone," Tia said at the same time. Then she laughed. "It's just that with so many of us having found our way back over the years, it seems like _everyone_ in Misty Valley is a Castaway is all. Besides, any time I introduce myself as 'Professor Castaway'," she smiled wryly, "someone makes a Gilligan's Island joke and I've heard them all already…"

"Ah," the Apprentice said delicately. "I believe you'll discover that in this place, having more than one name is scarcely unique. So," he turned to the others, "you'll pardon me for making the introduction one-sided and letting you all decide for yourselves how you'd prefer to be addressed. Allow me to present to you," he nodded to each in turn, "Tia Malone and her brother Tony Castaway. And now," he added, "I think it best we repair back to my master's house to discuss matters."

As the newcomers got back into the Honda and the Apprentice joined them, the others exchanged wry glances.

"I… guess that's that," David murmured, starting off toward the side of the road where he'd parked his truck.

In less than five minutes, the small procession got underway.

Had they waited even ten minutes more, they might have noticed another car moving along the main road from the opposite direction, one which was also not native to Storybrooke…

* * *

"You're positive nobody's living here," Ursula asked again, gesturing toward the farmhouse at the end of the gravel road. "Because now that we're closer, I have to tell you, I can practically feel the dark magic radiating out of this dwelling."

Cruella smiled. "There's a raccoon living under the front porch. She was supplementing her usual diet with the table scraps of the former occupant. At least, until early fall when the deposits to the rubbish bin ceased. Since then, nobody's stepped foot on these premises."

Ursula absorbed that. Then she nodded slowly. "It's fairly isolated," she said. "I can see a few other houses down the main road, but the closest must be about a quarter of a mile off. We've woodland at our back and the town proper is almost two miles away. I could do with something a bit closer to the ocean, but all in all?" she nodded again, this time with a slight smile of her own, "this is a decent place in which to hole up. Assuming your rodent informant is right."

"If she isn't, she'll make a divine hat."

"Can we park behind the house?" Lily spoke up. "Just in case someone does pass by, we wouldn't want them to see the car."

"Good idea," Ursula said. "Hang on." With a gesture, a path appeared in the pristine snow that surrounded the house. Seeing Cruella's start of surprise, she shrugged. "I'm a creature of the sea. My magic is strongest when it pertains to water. And snow? Is frozen water vapor. I'll cover over the path and any tracks we might make once we're inside."

Cruella's reply was a terse nod, as she turned the car onto the path that Ursula had just created. "Oh, lovely," she said, sounding pleased. "There's a barn. If you ask me, dahlings, that would be the perfect place to park."

"As long as nobody comes poking around," Ursula warned.

"Well, if they do, dahling, we're hardly defenseless here," Cruella reminded her. "And as far as keeping a low profile, there's a tarpaulin in the trunk we can use to conceal this baby a bit better. And I suppose you can do something about a protection spell?"

Ursula nodded. A moment later, though, her eyebrows knit together in a puzzled frown. "That's weird," she murmured.

"Problem?" Lily asked.

Ursula gave a slight nod. "I'm not entirely sure. But there's already an inactive protection spell about this place. Sort of like a burglar alarm that wasn't set. I can use it; it'll make things a lot easier. But the power that went into this…" She turned to Cruella. "If I had to guess, your furry friend knows what he was talking about. The person who used to live here was extremely powerful, but he—or she—was neutralized before they could activate their defenses. Either they got taken by surprise, or they lost a major battle. Or both."

"Well," Lily said briskly, "their loss, our gain, right? I mean, they probably left all kinds of stuff lying around that we can make use of."

"Maybe," Ursula said. "But all the same, let's be on our guard until we know for sure that we're safe here. The protection spell may be dormant, but that doesn't mean that there can't be other spells—or booby traps—around. Whoever lived here wielded serious magic. We can't assume that they pinned all their security on one protection spell."

Cruella and Lily nodded slowly.

* * *

In her cell in the hospital's sub-basement, Zelena sat up with a start. "Well, well," she said softly. "I'd all but forgotten about that sentry spell. It would appear that I have visitors. Now, who might they be?"

She was getting tired of the security cameras. Or rather, she was getting tired of hiding under the blankets to conceal her activities from them. She knew they were watching. Already, the little do-gooder who seemed to have made her a charity project had been oh-so-sweetly-and-delicately asking whether she was experiencing any malaise that had her spending so many hours in bed.

Zelena had denied any problem. She'd already seen enough of the diffident head-doctor who'd come to assess her state of mind when she'd first been brought here. He hadn't pressed her then; he'd only mentioned that if she did feel the need to unburden herself, she had only to advise the staff and he would be at her service. As if she would ever willingly bare her heart or soul to him or any of his ilk. Despite his promises of confidentiality, she had no doubt that the cricket would be only too happy to chirp in the ears of her sister and the Charmings if he learned anything from her that would interest them. No, she had to tread cautiously and give nobody reason to think that she suffered from any sort of affliction of the mind. Instead, she'd shrugged and claimed to be sensitive to cold. The blue gnat had returned the next day with a hideous magenta sweater that had probably been out of fashion the day that this town had come into existence. She'd forced herself to smile and try it on.

She shook her head. Really, this ought to wait until evening, when nobody would think it suspicious to see her lying in bed beneath the covers. She knew how to be patient. She knew how to be circumspect. She knew that until she discovered who it was who had broken into her farmhouse, she would know no rest.

Footsteps approached her cell and paused before her door. She'd forgotten that it was time for breakfast. As she waited and watched the slot in the bottom of her door, an idea came to her. A moment later, a tray slid through the slot and into the room. She regarded the tray for a moment before approaching it with feigned reluctance and a resigned expression. Yogurt, pancakes with sealed packets of jam, syrup, honey, and butter, a wedge of melon, and two fried eggs. Oh, yes. Yes, this definitely had potential.

She picked up the tray and brought it to her table—really, just a slab of wood that was riveted to the wall roughly two and a half feet high. Then, seating herself on the wooden stool, she picked up the plastic knife and fork and attacked the eggs.

As she'd hoped, they were sunny-side up, the yellow yolks liquid and runny. As she lifted a forkful to her lips, she maneuvered her wrist so that the egg slid off to land directly on her bright magenta sweater. _Careful_ , she reminded herself. _They'll be suspicious if you look at the cameras. They'll know you want them to see. Trust that they have and don't overact this._ Sullenly, she finished her breakfast and kicked the tray back through the slot. Then, with a disgusted expression, she all but tore off the sweater and dove back into bed. Using the blankets to block the camera's relentless prying, she smiled.

"Now," she whispered, "it's time to find out who my trespassers are…"

* * *

Rumple had ample opportunity to observe the newcomers as they made their way to the Sorcerer's library. While both looked about with interest, Tony's eyes were wide with wonder and excitement. Tia seemed more reserved, but something told Rumple that she was paying even closer attention. He waited until they were seated at the long table before he steepled his fingers, frowned, and began, "So, as I understand it, despite this being a land without magic… you possess it?"

Tia smiled. "It's sort of complicated. I guess… Okay, you've heard the expression, 'if the only tool you have is a hammer, then you'll treat everything as though it was a nail?' Tony and I have _power._ Back home, we called it magic. Here… maybe it's ESP, or psionic ability… or maybe it _is_ a sort of magic, but not the kind that Uncle Bené wields."

The Apprentice inclined his head slightly, and while his lips only twitched, there was no mistaking the warmth of his eyes.

"It's never had anything to do with spell-casting," Tony chimed in. "No scrolls or special ingredients. It's mostly a mental process. For Tia, it's almost entirely so. For me," he ducked his head a bit self-consciously and set a silver-colored harmonica down on the table, "I need a little help. Music helps me channel."

"You said 'home'," David repeated. "Where's home?"

"In this land," Tia said, "It's a little place called Stony Creek in Misty Valley. That's just about straddling the Idaho-Montana boundary at the edge of Bitterroot National Forest."

"I take it from the way you're talking that's not where you're from originally," Regina remarked.

Tony shook his head. "No. We were just kids when we arrived, but we were born in the Pebble Islands. In Camelot."

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Zelena had answered one question and been left with several more. She didn't know any of the three women currently occupying her farmhouse, but she did know that they were bent on stirring things up in Storybrooke. And there were a few ways in which that might turn out to her advantage.

First, if they were looking for an ally against her sister and her sister's Charming allies, Zelena would be more than happy to assist. If they were truly as formidable as they seemed to think, then they would be worthy friends. And if they proved to be mere sound and fury, then at the right moment, they could be either subdued or dispatched as her mood took her.

She would have to find a way to make contact with them, undetected by both the cameras in her cell, and the prying eyes of the staff that came to look in on her, seemingly without a set schedule. At least the Blue Pest had thus far restricted her visits to the daylight hours. In any event, teleporting away was too risky. There were spells that would allow her to communicate with the outside world, but they would also leave her less aware of her current surroundings. Should anyone enter her cell and attempt to engage her in conversation, they would realize that something was amiss. She wasn't ready to reveal that she had access to her magic again, at least, not yet. Not until she was absolutely certain that she could defeat anyone attempting to neutralize her power another time.

But even if she couldn't reach out to them, even if she did and they rebuffed her, if they were powerful enough to pose a genuine threat, there was always the possibility that the heroes would turn to her in their most desperate hour. It wasn't that farfetched. After all, look at how often they appealed to Rumple, even though they knew that he always had his own agenda. If they did plead for her help, Zelena knew that, if she played her cards right, she'd be able to demand all manner of payment in exchange for it. And once the battle was over, she'd be in a far better position than the one in which she currently found herself.

And Robin? Robin might even be grateful enough to intercede on her behalf, and wouldn't _that_ be a kick in the teeth to her dear sister? Zelena smiled. If Robin were to choose her openly and willingly? Oh, yes! Zelena might not be the only green-skinned member of the family once the dust cleared.

She closed her eyes with a satisfied smirk, as she began to plan the best way to turn the situation to her advantage.

* * *

As Tony and Tia finished their story, Rumple leaned forward with a puzzled frown. "You're telling us," he said slowly, "that some thirty years ago, which would be… oh, just about the time that this town came into existence, a traveler from this realm reached Camelot and returned with several thousand refugees, whom he resettled in another remote location on the other side of this continent."

The two newcomers shared a resigned look with the Apprentice, but it wasn't until the older man nodded approval that Tony sighed. "Not exactly…" he said.

"Don't tell me," Emma remarked, rolling her eyes slightly. "It gets even _more_ complicated."

"I'm afraid so," Tia replied, a pink flush staining her cheeks. "Although it took Mr. Trimble some time before he realized it. You see, when he first came to us, he had no idea that he'd crossed realms. Since, in this world, Camelot—at least, some version of it—was thought to be a kingdom in the British Isles some seventeen hundred years ago, of course he made the natural assumption that he'd travelled back in time."

"Like you made the natural assumption that you came from another planet," Rumple nodded.

Tony shrugged. "The crest of the Pebble Islands was a double star. The message we absorbed from everyone around us was that magic was definitely imaginary and science fiction was possibly real. When we realized we had powers, we 'knew' they couldn't be magical. When our memories started coming back, well, we knew we were 'castaways', we knew we didn't come from here, my sister had a carry-case with a double star that had always been with her… What else were we supposed to think?"

"Indeed," Rumple remarked with a faint smile. "Given the conventional wisdom that surrounded you, you drew the most logical conclusion possible. I'm scarcely about to mock you for it."

"Yes, well," Tia continued, "as I was saying, Mr. Trimble thought that his ship had malfunctioned, carrying him backwards through time, instead of forward through space. And since he knew that we'd need some help learning about how things worked in this land, he asked Uncle Bené to send him back to the summer _before_ he'd left."

"It would have worked out," Tony broke in. "He knew about Stony Creek, because he'd been camping there when he got the call to report to NASA. That was in late July. So, he figured if we landed at the beginning of May, he could make his way to the campsite and wait for his other self to get the call at the campground office—this was before cell phones—and then, somehow, figure out how to sort out the time stream."

"He's always been optimistic," Tia said fondly. Her smile dimmed somewhat. "Unfortunately, when he got to the campground, his other self wasn't there. And at the proper time on the right date, there was no phone call."

"Wait," Emma said. "Science fiction isn't exactly my thing, but I think I remember reading some story about time travel where the writer explained that two versions of one person couldn't exist at the same time?" She made a face. "Sorry, I don't remember much more than that. It wasn't that interesting a story."

"Well," Tia said slowly, "that theory might or might not be true. In any case, it wouldn't be relevant here, seeing as Mr. Trimble hadn't actually traveled through time."

"Wait," David said, with a puzzled frown. "I know he jumped realms to get to Camelot, but you just said that the Appren—" He broke off. "Sorry, that _Bené_ sent him back to an earlier point in time from when he'd left."

"That _was_ what I was attempting," the Apprentice nodded. "However, between being forced to work with a technology I didn't understand as thoroughly as I believed, and attempting to use it to reverse a process that had never actually transpired in the first place, combined with my belief that magic could not be used to travel through time…" his expression grew pained. "With the technology onboard his vessel, Tom Trimble did travel back to a date prior to the one on which he departed." He paused for a beat. "But not to the same realm he'd left."


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Ursula and Cruella are going by what they know of Cora. And they weren't present during the events of S2E2: "We are Both" or S2E3: "The Lady of the Lake".

**Chapter Seventeen**

 

"Hang on," Emma blurted out. "Are you trying to tell me that there's more than one Earth out there? More than one Idaho? Another Montana?"

The Apprentice nodded, unperturbed by her outburst. "You might want to have a talk with your Mr. Booth about _his_ story, and how it could possibly have been written down in this realm nearly a century before his father carved him. It's hardly uncommon for a tale or an individual to exist in multiple versions. Why should the same not hold true for a realm?"

Emma blinked. "I… I don't know," she said, still looking confused. "So, is there another _me_ out there?"

The Apprentice smiled gently. "There are, almost certainly, other saviors. And some of them may look like you, or even bear your name. But not one of them would _be_ you. You are," his smile grew warmer, "unique." He glanced around the table.

"The same holds true for the rest of you," he added. "There are other versions of your stories in other realms, and they are as real and true as those you've lived and those that shaped you. But the fact of their existence in no way alters the reality of yours." He frowned for a moment, thinking. "Fate does tend to arrange matters so that one seldom meets one's counterparts," he admitted. "Not that it can't happen, of course. Just that, statistically speaking, it happens far less frequently than one might think. At any rate, this realm's Tom Trimble followed a different career path, one that did not lead him to NASA. I met him once, in fact. He was teaching Optomechanical Engineering at some college in the Pacific Northwest. That was a number of years ago."

Rumple sniffed. "Well, I'm sure that's of relevance to someone," he muttered in a voice that was meant to be overheard. Regina looked away, though not before he detected the faintest of smirks on her face.

"At any rate," the Apprentice said, "Mr. Trimble decided that he'd prefer not to chance jumping realms once more. At first, he only meant to remain in Misty Valley long enough to help the refugees adjust to this land, but a month became two, and two became twelve, and he still lives there today. It does reduce the likelihood of his encountering anyone familiar with his counterpart."

Regina cleared her throat. "This has all been rather enlightening," she said. "But I'm not exactly sure what it is your companions are doing here. I mean," she smiled politely at Tony and Tia, "I hope you don't misunderstand; we'll take what help we can find. But why the two of you? Why here? Why now?"

The two newcomers looked uncertain. Tia's eyes found the Apprentice's. "Uncle Bené?" she asked.

The Apprentice smiled. "You each have your part to play. And when the time comes, it will be clear that it will be in a role that no other can fulfill. For now though," his gaze panned the table, starting with Regina and ending with Snow, "think of them as allies. You may trust them as fully as you do me." His smile broadened. "And yes, I'm aware that you're yet somewhat suspicious of my intentions. It can hardly be otherwise. But then, I wouldn't expect you to put more faith in two newcomers you've scarcely known a morning," he continued mildly.

Snow cleared her throat. "How long do we have?" she asked. "Until Maleficent's daughter arrives?"

"You'll meet her ere long," the Apprentice said, his voice turning serious. "But she won't be the threat you need most concern yourself with. The greatest strengths and the greatest dangers often come from within."

"What does that mean?" David asked, frowning.

The Apprentice's eyebrows shot upwards. "Precisely what it sounds like, of course," he replied. "For now, I'd suggest you go about your regular day. I'll see Tony and Tia settled in."

Almost as one, they surged up from the table, intent on demanding further clarification. But with neither warning nor flash of light nor puff of smoke, the Apprentice and the two new arrivals vanished from the room.

Regina shook his head with annoyance. "That was rather rude of him," she remarked.

"Indeed," Rumple nodded. "Although I can't say I wasn't expecting something of the sort." He adjusted his tie absently. "I suppose there's no help for it. I'd best head back into town and open the shop."

"I'll drive you," Emma nodded.

Snow, David, and Regina exchanged a look. "I guess that's just as well," the mayor nodded. "I've got something else to take care of…"

* * *

"Whoever lived here didn't really plan on settling in," Lily remarked decisively. "Either that or she left in a hurry."

"She?" Ursula echoed with a raised eyebrow.

The younger woman shrugged. "I found some dresses hanging in the closet in the master bedroom. I… guess that doesn't necessarily prove anything, but let's agree it makes it likelier." She gestured to their surroundings. "There's nothing… personal, here. Except for in the bedroom, and even there, it's just some clothes. The furniture looks like it was picked out of a catalog. No knickknacks or mementos or…" She frowned. "This wasn't a home. It was a place to hole up until she did what she meant to."

"Which was?" Cruella asked.

Lily shrugged. "Beats me. I'm usually pretty good at figuring out what makes people tick, but all I'm getting here is that the person who was staying here was here for a purpose, and it wasn't to settle in."

"Sounds like us," Ursula said with a gleam in her eye. "Well. We've been over the house and barn, and it looks like Cruella's informant was right. Whoever this mystery woman was, she's moved on. Which means this place is available."

She turned to Cruella. "I suppose you're planning to sleep the morning away?"

Cruella sniffed. "Well, I certainly don't intend to move about much after sleeping in my car earlier."

"That's what I thought," Ursula said. "All right. The fridge and cupboards are pretty empty. Someone's going to have to do a supply run. And since right now, Cruella and I are the only two of us who'll stand a chance at recognizing the other faces here—"

"My book—" Lily started to say, but Ursula cut her off.

"Could've used a better illustrator. Some of those pictures are a little… Impressionistic. I recognize them because I've seen the real people in the flesh. You haven't got that advantage."

Lily was silent.

"So," Ursula said smiling a bit, "it looks like I'm the designated food shopper."

Lily frowned. "You don't think those tentacles are going to be a little obvious? And what about what we said before about you two being recognized?"

"Ah," Ursula said, still smiling, "but that was before we knew that there was magic here. With magic," she made a curious gesture and her features shifted into those of someone else entirely, "I can assure you that nobody will recognize me. Unless I want them to…"

* * *

Uncle Bené smiled benignly as he opened the bedroom door. "I believe this room will suit you, Tia," he remarked. "And," he opened the door across the hall, "this one is for you, Tony."

Tony frowned. "You knew we'd come here eventually, didn't you? I mean, why else would you have two spare bedrooms?"

Uncle Bené didn't reply, but there was no mistaking the approval in his eyes.

"The mayor had a point, though," Tia admitted. "I'm not sure why you need us here. Between you, Emma Swan, and Regina Mills, is our power really necessary?"

For a long moment, Uncle Bené stayed silent. Then, softly, he answered, "I hope so. I summoned the two of you as a precaution. There is one talent that the three of us share to varying degrees, and that is the ability to see what will one day occur."

Tony and Tia nodded. Tia's power allowed her to see only what would transpire in the immediate future, but while her brother's vision extended a good deal farther, it was also blurrier. Tia's insights were clearer, for all their limitations in scope.

"What did you see?" Tony asked, swallowing hard.

Uncle Bené shook his head. "Only that I expect to have need of you. There will be something you will be able to do that the others will not. I'm sorry I can't be more specific, but since I see farther ahead than either of you two, my ability to focus on specific details is commensurately weaker. Not so weak as it would be if I didn't take the necessary steps to hone it, though. As I trust you both have your talents? Of course, you've kept up with your meditating?"

Both siblings lowered their eyes guiltily and shuffled their feet.

"I haven't been using my talents much," Tony admitted in an undertone.

Tia's cheeks were beet-red. "I… guess I got so caught up in trying to forge ahead that I stopped reviewing the basics."

Uncle Bené sighed. "I won't pretend I'm not disappointed," he said. "But dwelling on what should have been is a pointless endeavor." He clapped his hands once. "Put your things away. Take an hour to settle in. We'll convene in the living room after that. And then, we shall see the extent to which negligence has impacted your abilities. And in the time we have," he added somewhat sternly, "we shall attempt to undo that damage."

Tia and Tony nodded, each one wincing a bit at the quiet scolding.

* * *

Ursula sat at a corner table in Granny's and studied the other customers. She hadn't made many connections during her time in the Enchanted Forest. She'd fallen in with Maleficent early on and, through her, become acquainted, first with Cruella and then with Regina. That had been more than enough for her.

She'd always been something of a loner. It wasn't that she'd been shy, or afraid to meet new people, but for the most part, she found herself ill at ease in social settings, preferring a small cadre of close friends to a wide net of acquaintances.

Except, of course, when singing had been involved. Give her a song and, perhaps, some musical accompaniment—though the latter wasn't really necessary—and she would perform for anyone and everyone who cared to listen. When she had the right tune and the right lyrics, it didn't matter if she was on stage before all her father's court, perched on a rock whose top just broke the ocean's surface, or in the solitude of her chambers. At least, it _hadn't_ mattered. Back when she could still sing.

But the less she dwelled on that time, the better. Her singing voice was gone, and she had two people to thank for it. One was her father, and while she had a feeling that she still could still cross realms, even from a Land without Magic, she had no desire to return home and confront him. He'd made up his mind to keep her with him, even if it had meant destroying her fiercest love to do it. She would never go crawling back to him now, no matter how miserable her life had become in the years between then and now.

And as for the second…

Her eyes grew wide as the restaurant door swung open, and she tried to hide her face in the upturned collar of her coat, before she caught sight of her reflection in the shiny metal napkin dispenser on her table and remembered that she was using a glamor spell. Captain Hook, deep in conversation with a woman she'd never seen before—a woman who wore a sheriff star fastened to her belt—strode in. Going by the look on the pirate's face, the woman clearly meant something to him. Ursula made a mental note of _that_ detail and tried not to watch too obviously as the two made their way to an empty table in a booth that could accommodate four more people easily.

The door opened again and now, Ursula was hard-put to conceal her shock. Short bobs hadn't been fashionable in the Enchanted Forest, but even without long hair, there was no mistaking Snow White. She was still with James—or had he gone back to using 'David' after defeating King George? But neither Snow White's pixie cut nor the fact that she was obviously still in love with her husband were the cause of Ursula's consternation. It was that the two weren't alone. A third person accompanied them. _Regina_. And from the look of it, the three were positively friendly.

As she watched, they made their way to the booth that Hook had already claimed and joined the pair at the table. Since when did heroes and villains act so chummy? Just what the _halibut_ was going on here?

* * *

"Dahling," Cruella drawled, "while we're waiting for Ursula to get back from her little gumshoe excursion, why don't you see if you can't scrounge up some food the former occupant might've left behind?"

Lily gave the older woman a hard look. "The kitchen's right through there," she said. "Check for yourself."

"Oh, I know the kitchen's a wash," Cruella retorted. "I'm beginning to wonder whether the former occupant of the premises wasn't Old Mother Hubbard. But don't farmhouses generally have barns or silos or other places where they store their crops? Maybe you'll find some smoked meats or pickles or preserves or something."

"Or gin?" Lily asked in a voice as cold and hard as the look turned on Cruella.

Cruella shrugged. "If you do, of course I'll want a nightcap later, dahling. But for right now, I'd say that hunger is more of a concern. I should have had those flounder beach themselves last night; some fried fish would really hit the spot."

Lily sighed. "Well, you'd need oil for that. Anyway, there's nothing to find in here. I think I saw a storm cellar in the back. Maybe there's something in there," she added dubiously. "But I have to tell you, anyone who had time enough to pack up before they left probably took everything."

"Well, you won't know until you look, dahling," Cruella told her sweetly.

Lily made a face, but she took her coat off of the sofa arm, stepped back into her boots, and headed for the low concrete structure, muttering under her breath.

A few minutes later, she was back and out of breath. "From the looks of you," Cruella remarked, "I can only think that you've encountered a grizzly bear or a bobcat out there." Her eyes lit up. "Unless… it wouldn't be a black racer, not at this time of year?"

Lily shook her head. Cruella sighed. "A pity. While I do love fur, I wouldn't say no to a chic little belt from the hide of an endangered serpent." Her eyes narrowed. "Wait. You are scared, aren't you dahling? You're… why, you're nigh petrified. Now, what turn of events could have shaken you out of your blasé, jaded, can't-let-anything-stronger-than-cold-disdain-show-on-your-face attitude, hmm?"

Lily took a deep breath. "I-I'm not sure if this is a safe place for us to be. Not if the person who used to live here is as powerful as I think she might have been and there's a chance she might be back."

"What do you mean?"

Lily hesitated. "How… how many people do you know of who can spin straw into gold?"

Cruella blinked. "Offhand, I can think of two. Both formidable opponents. Do you mean to say that you think one of them lived here?"

Lily shook her head. "Not… exactly…"

* * *

Ursula's agitation was obvious from the moment that she stepped back inside the farmhouse. "Nothing out there makes any sense!" she exclaimed. "Snow White and Prince Charming are BFFs with Regina and Captain Hook, dwarves are dating fairies, and-and I just saw Rumpelstiltskin buy some kind of candle from Tinker Bell and wish her a happy Miner's Day, whatever that is!" She set a paper shopping bag down on the table. It tipped and a loaf of sliced bread slid partway out.

"Any sign of Emma?" Lily asked.

Ursula frowned. "Snow and Charming's daughter? I don't know. There was a woman I didn't recognize sitting with the others, but she looked old enough to be a sister to them."

"The curse would have frozen everyone in this town for twenty-eight years, if the child's book is to be believed," Cruella reminded her. "If their daughter grew up outside of it, she'd probably be about the same age as her parents, now."

Ursula blinked. "Well, be that as it may," she snapped after a moment's reflection, "if that's the case, she seems mighty chummy with that pirate and if her parents are still as insufferably virtuous as they used to be, it doesn't make sense that they'd seem okay with it!"

"Wait," Lily broke in. "Emma's dating a _pirate_? No way. That doesn't sound a bit like the girl I used to know."

"Well, we've yet to establish that the woman I saw was this 'Emma'. For all I know, she used to be some woodland creature in Briar Rose's hut in the forest; apparently some of them made the crossing and leveled up."

"About my age? Blonde hair? She used to wear it long."

Ursula hesitated. "She _did_ have long blonde hair," she allowed.

Cruella turned to Lily. "You know," she said slowly, "if Rumpelstiltskin has switched sides—"

"He's the Dark One," Ursula cut her off. "He's got about as much chance of switching sides as you do."

"Well, yes," Cruella conceded, "but don't forget, dahling, he's _twisty_. And he doesn't mind playing long games. I wouldn't put it past him to pretend to be a hero long enough to win the town's trust and then stab it in its heart at the proper time."

Ursula considered that. After a moment, she gave the other woman a careful, grudging nod.

Cruella smiled victoriously. "As I was _saying_ ," she went on, " _if_ he's switched sides, _or_ if that's what he has everyone believing, then, Lily dear, that makes our discovery in the storm cellar make so much more sense."

"What are you talking about?" Ursula demanded.

Cruella smirked. "It would appear that the former occupant of this dwelling put the Dark One in a somewhat uncomfortable position. Well," she added thoughtfully, "I suppose there's a slight chance that it might have been _Cora_ experiencing said discomfort, but I believe we can all agree on which of the two is most _notorious_ for spinning straw into gold, hmm?" She waited for that to sink in before she went on. "The thing I can't be certain of is whether there's anything specific about the location that would have bound him there, or whether she was truly that formidable a spell-caster. And since magic's much more your thing, dahling," she gave Ursula a bow that was only half-mocking, "perhaps you might care take a gander?"

* * *

From his seat at one of the library's study tables, August looked up from his book to steal a surreptitious glance at Belle. The librarian was at the circulation desk, her eyes downcast. August suspected that she, too, was reading.

With a sigh he went back to his book—literally _his_ book. He'd never really gotten through Collodi's _The Adventures of Pinocchio_ before and, so long as he was here in the library, he'd thought he might as well give it a shot. The last time he'd tried, he'd been about Henry's age and, after flipping through the pages and blinking at the cringingly inaccurate illustrations, it had only taken the first page of actual reading to get him to thrust away the book in disgust.

_…I do not know how this really happened, yet the fact remains that one fine day this piece of wood found itself in the shop of an old carpenter. His real name was Mastro Antonio, but everyone called him Mastro Cherry—_

—had been enough to sour him on the slanderous thing. _Libelous_ , he reminded himself. _It's slander if it's spoken, libel if it's legible. Use the alliteration to keep it straight._ Now, though, he needed something that would hold his attention, but not keep him so engrossed that he might miss any of the warning signs that Rumpelstiltskin's worries were well founded.

For Rumple's sake, he hoped that they weren't. But if there was anybody about likely to recognize the first faint stirrings of Darkness in another's heart, August had to admit that Rumple was at the top of the list. He remembered that Rumple had mentioned that it had been Regina who'd brought the matter to his attention. Well, he allowed, _she_ was probably the second name down on that list.

He tried to read on and discovered that the author of this version of his story did not, in fact, cast this 'Mastro Cherry' as his creator. Gepetto appeared a scant two pages later. But while this character might share a name with his papa, he certainly didn't share a personality. The very notion of his papa wearing a blond wig and being tauntingly called 'Polendina' was insulting and he pushed his chair back several inches as though out of revulsion, and tried to focus on the real reason he was here.

He'd wanted to tell Rumple not to be silly when the older man had broached his concern. Belle was finally taking a hard honest look at how she _truly_ felt, not how she told herself she _ought_ to feel, and part of that honesty meant recognizing that she had a bit of a dark side, however small. That didn't mean she was on the verge of giving into it. But then, Belle had been through a lot lately, August reflected. And not only lately. He leaned once more into the book with a frown as he thought about it. She'd sacrificed herself to win peace for her duchy, resolved to make the best of a bad situation and, little by little, fallen in love with her captor. He'd cast her out and, shortly thereafter, Regina had captured and imprisoned her for just about thirty years—twenty-eight of them with no less sense of self than virtually anybody else in town had enjoyed under the curse. And then, she'd been freed and reunited with Rumple, only to learn that he was still far from the good man she'd been certain she'd seen lurking beneath the monster's façade. Still she'd stayed with him, out of love or hope, August imagined. But even at that time, her father had hired a ruffian to kidnap her. He'd nearly sent her over the town line when doing so would have robbed her of all memory. A few days later, Hook had succeeded where her father had failed. And…

And Belle had gone from stress to stress, crisis to crisis, disillusionment to disillusionment…

August shook his head. He might not know as much about Darkness as those who had given themselves over to it, but one thing he did know was that it sought out people who believed themselves to be weak and desperate. _Powerless_. _Raging against circumstances they could do nothing to change. Hopel—_

August frowned, thinking about Regina, who had never despaired of vengeance on Snow White, despite setback after setback. Or Rumple, who had spent nearly two centuries creating and refining the curse that would lead him to his son, and, when his attempts to apologize for the past were rebuffed, had still refused to give up on the possibility of reconciliation. No, Darkness wasn't about hopelessness. Not precisely.

Doubt, then, maybe. Doubt that one's past actions or current aptitudes could bring about the desired results, unless one gave in more fully to the Darkness and hoped that doing so wouldn't push the goal even farther out of reach.

August massaged his forehead. He thought he liked it better when he'd thought that Darkness _was_ about lack of hope. Because right now, he was thinking more along the lines of Darkness being that force that could take something pure and positive— _like_ hope—and twist it about until it became an instrument of torment for its bearer.

"August?"

He blinked. Belle was standing across the table from him, bending over him with a concerned smile. "Are you feeling okay?"

She _looked_ normal. Her expression bespoke worry and friendliness without a hint of malevolence. He smiled easily. "Yeah," he said. "Sorry. I was just… uh…" He shook his head and pushed the book across to her. "I thought I was ready to see just how badly lost in translation my biography was." He made a face. "I wasn't."

Curiously, Belle turned the book toward her and flipped back to the first page. "Polendina?" she read dubiously a moment or two later. "Oh, dear."

August relaxed. He still struggled with honesty at times, but every now and again, a small fib was still warranted. And the best kind of lie was usually one that incorporated a decent amount of truth…

* * *

"There's no enchantment on the cage," Ursula pronounced. "Which means that our spell-caster either had some other means of neutralizing their power and the cage was just for humiliation purposes, or it suited their captive to let them _think_ that they were neutralized."

"Well, which one is it, do you think?" Cruella asked.

Ursula frowned. "As much as I'm trying to allow for the possibility of it being Cora, I just don't see it. That one," she sniffed, "was too happy to leave her old life of deprivation behind; she'd never allow anyone to think they could contain her under those conditions. She'd sooner rip out the heart of anyone who tried it."

"For all we know," Lily pointed out, "that's what she did."

Cruella shook her head. "If that were the case, Lilith dahling," she said, "we'd have found the body by now. Cora never worried about hiding her handiwork. For that matter, she wouldn't have cleared away the victim's personal effects. And while restraining the hands of a spell-caster will prevent them from using magic, that begs the question of why the spinning wheel was there." She sniffed. "Not that I know much about such domestic crafts, but wouldn't one need one's hands free in order to use the device?" She smiled. "Besides, there's always been _one_ sure way to control the Dark One, and if I had to gamble, I'd take the odds that she'd found it."

Ursula nodded. "Yes. If our spell-caster got her hands on his dagger, that would make a good deal of sense." She sighed. "Unless Rumple _was_ just toying with her, and good luck getting a straight answer out of him about which it was."

"Well, how do we find out for sure?" Lily asked, frowning a bit in irritation at the babble of youthful voices that she could hear from the farmhouse window. Her irritation grew when she realized that it was open. "No wonder it's chilly in here," she grumped.

"Oh, come now, dahling I had to air the place out," Cruella said loftily, as Lily went to shut it. "I don't think anyone's cleaned it in weeks."

"You could've grabbed a feather duster," Lily shot back. "It's a good thing it's warmed up a bit; I think the temperature's actually above freezing now."

"It has," Ursula confirmed. "And I don't mind mentioning that's an improvement over this morning," she added. "To answer your question, I guess we'll have to risk another foray into town and hope nobody asks too many questions. This isn't a very big place and, contrary to what Cruella was saying earlier, I don't know how long any of us can try to blend in before someone realizes that they have no idea who we are."

Lily peered through the now-closed window at the gaggle of tow-headed girls and boys who were laughing and bounding along the road. While the littlest of them still wore their winter coats, the older children had either unfastened them or removed them entirely, and now carried them slung over shoulders and arms. She smiled and turned back to face the other two women. "I think I have an idea…"


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Chapter Eighteen**

"You're well today?" the Blue Fairy inquired with a warmth in her voice that didn't reach her eyes.

Zelena returned the fairy's beatific smile with one nearly as condescending. "Oh, yes," she replied feigning gratitude. "And so happy to have company. Life is so dull down here that even scrubbing the floors fills my poor heart with joy." She tamped down her sarcasm slightly, just enough that it might pass for sincerity—if the listener had the IQ of a rosebush. Something Zelena thought might be the case where the fairy was concerned.

"I'm happy to help," the fairy said primly. "Might I ask whether there's anything that you're lacking that might be provided?"

Zelena hesitated. While she had no plans to leave the hospital yet, it never hurt to have an escape route mapped. "I wonder," she began. Then she shook her head, feigning despondency. "Never mind."

The Blue Fairy took an unconscious step toward her. "What is it?" she asked.

Zelena opened her mouth to speak once more, but then, in a calculated move, she turned away. "It doesn't matter. You'd never allow it, so there's no point in getting my hopes up."

"Hope shouldn't be discarded so easily," the fairy said in a far gentler voice than any she'd used with the witch thus far. "Tell me."

Zelena sighed. "We both know that so long as I wear this cuff," she said, brandishing her arm, "I'm quite powerless. So keeping me here is really more to satisfy a whim of my sister's than out of any concern that I'll pose a threat to the town."

The Blue Fairy sniffed. "I'm not sure that your presence here is solely due to a whim," she said, and while her voice stayed mild, there was a chill to it that hadn't been there a moment ago. "Your actions certainly—"

She'd spoken too soon, she realized. The fairy might pity her, but she was still suspicious and distrustful. _Not as stupid as I thought_ , Zelena admitted to herself. "Yes, of course," Zelena said hastily. "But I can't harm her now. And really, one does get bored with bare walls and sparse furnishings. Would… do you think it might be possible to have… an occasional change of scenery?" Though it galled her, she forced a beseeching note into her voice. "Please?"

For a long moment, the fairy was silent. Zelena turned back to face her, trying to maintain an earnest expression without dissolving into laughter. Finally, a sympathetic smile spread the fairy's lips. "Of course," she said, and the warmth in her voice was positively _gooey_. "You're quite right. There's absolutely no reason for you to have to stare at these empty walls for another day."

Zelena started to smile back, but the smile froze as the fairy continued speaking.

"I'll bring a selection of posters and scenic prints with me when I return tomorrow and if you'd like, I'll be delighted to help you put them up. In fact," she added, "I believe we've a good deal of artwork gathering dust in the convent's attic. I'll look through it this evening." She beamed. "Problem solved."

"Indeed it is," Zelena murmured, as the fairy continued to natter on before finally taking her leave.

As the cell door shut behind her, Zelena's smile turned to a scowl and she choked back a shriek of frustration. No, the Blue Fairy definitely wasn't as stupid as she'd thought…

* * *

"You're getting warmer," Cruella nodded. "You got the white stripes at the elbow the correct width, but the buttons are too small and those skirts are still an inch or so too long, if those girls who skipped past the house are anything to base judgment upon."

Ursula sighed. "I really think this is close enough. I mean, it's not as though we're actually going to be attending classes. Who cares if the uniforms aren't quite right?"

"Look dahling," Cruella snapped, "if we're going out disguised as a trio of school girls—and by the way, I do think," she smiled in Lily's direction, "it's an inspired idea—then we need to look the part. And since, for all we know, there's only one school in this town, should anyone notice something amiss, I doubt that claiming to attend a different place of education is going to wash. Not to mention if there is another such institution, their uniforms probably won't look anything like those."

Ursula shook her head with a disgusted look. "I have no idea how much more magic I can use before I need rest and restoration," she muttered. "And recasting a glamor spell multiple times to raise or lower a hemline is just wasteful."

"Can you sew?" Lily asked.

Ursula shook her head again.

"Then it's not wa—"

Ursula cut her off with a toothy smile. "But Cruella can."

Cruella's face fell. "I haven't touched a machine in years."

"I bet it's like riding a bike."

"Well, I never did that either," Cruella shot back. "And anyway, where would I find such a dev—" She stopped abruptly, as a wooden table with a Vickers Modele De Luxe hand-crank sewing machine, easily nearly a century old, appeared before her.

"I think you must've stitched that Dalmatian-hide coat you used to wear on something similar," Ursula noted.

Cruella gave a little laugh. "Well, that was a long time ago, dahling. And a world away from this one."

"But that world had sewing machines, and you used one."

Cruella glanced from Ursula to Lily, as though she expected one of them to burst into laughter and admit that they were joking. When neither so much as cracked a smile, she sighed helplessly. "Oh, very well," she relented. "At least they'll be done properly. You'll at least furnish me the raw materials, Ursula dahling?"

A bolt of gray plaid appeared beside the sewing machine. "Be grateful I'm not asking you to knit the sweaters," Ursula smirked. "I'll keep trying to magic those up properly. You're certain I've got the crest right?"

Cruella sighed. "No, it was too small to see properly from the window, but surely you'll be able to make a few small tweaks on your own when you need to?"

Ursula sighed. "I suppose I'll have to."

"Right then." Cruella nodded, suddenly business-like. "I suppose I'd better take a few measurements. Unless you're also going to magically alter the fit?"

Ursula shook her head. "There's a tape measure in the table drawer, along with some sewing notions. Let's get started."

* * *

The shop had been quiet all day and business didn't pick up any when Henry arrived some thirty minutes after school ended. After greeting Rumple, the boy headed for the small bathroom off of the shop's back office to exchange his school uniform for the suit Rumple required him to wear while working.

Rumple went back to his polishing, nodding approvingly when his grandson reappeared, now properly attired, and immediately picked up the broom from the corner where it resided. After a few moments, though, he noted that the boy was going through the motions of the task without his usual alacrity or attention. In fact, Henry seemed to be pushing the same pile of dust back and forth aimlessly. "Something's on your mind," he murmured, keeping his tone mild.

Henry blinked. "Sorry," he said quickly and began to sweep a bit more conscientiously.

"You're apologizing for thinking," Rumple remarked with a half-smile. "I'd think the alternative would be a far better reason to request pardon."

After a moment, Henry acknowledged his grandfather's statement with a half-smile of his own. "Uh… sorry?" he ventured, straight-faced.

Rumple chuckled. "Not long ago," he said slowly, "August Booth informed me that I was 'easy to talk to'. While I found his statement difficult to believe, I'm not opposed to testing it out, should you be amenable?" He ended on an interrogative note, not really expecting the boy to take him up on his offer. There was a fine line between probing and prying and he had no intention of badgering his grandson into divulging matters he might prefer to keep secret.

But after a moment, Henry sighed. "It's nothing really. I mean… on a scale of one to ten, one being Archie's dog eating my study notes and ten being something bad enough to smash the clock tower face and vaporize Happy's newest Miata," he grinned when Rumple snorted, "I guess it's probably a two? One and a half, even?"

Rumple thought for a moment. "You know, Henry, there are different scales for measuring crises. Something that registers barely a flicker on a collective level might be far more significant to an individual."

"Well," Henry ducked his head, "I don't know if it's exactly a _crisis_." He took a breath. "There's this girl at school."

"A girl?" Rumple repeated.

Henry sighed with an exasperation that was only half-feigned. "Mom told you."

Rumple hesitated. "She did mention something about meeting one of your school friends, but not much beyond that."

Henry was silent for a moment. Then he nodded. "Well, good. Because she's just a friend."

"Of course."

"I mean, we aren't dating or anything. She's not my girlfriend. She's just a… a girl who's a friend."

"Well," Rumple said tartly, "I'm glad we've established that much."

Henry exhaled. "Sorry. I guess… well… she's got a part in that play we're doing at school and she's really good."

"I see."

"No, I mean, seriously, she's great. When she reads her lines, it's like…" He thought for a moment. "It's like she stepped out of Yonkers a century ago, instead of Sherwood Forest this past year."

"Ah," Rumple smiled. "I take it Yonkers is the setting for this theater piece."

"Yeah, sorry." Henry ducked his head. "No, I mean, seriously, she blows me away; she's that good."

"I see. And the trouble?"

Henry sighed. "She thinks she may have to drop out."

Rumple raised an eyebrow. "I see," he repeated once more, feeling somewhat out of his depth. Had Henry been seeking wealth or fame, he would have had a far better idea of how to render assistance—or at least, he would have if he'd had magic at his disposal. But this? This was... This was his grandson opening up to him after Rumple had practically pleaded with him to do so. The least he could do was listen. And perhaps that _was_ what Henry was seeking from him anyway. Not a solution, but an understanding ear. Henry was, after all, Emma's son. Rumple gave him an encouraging nod.

Apparently, that was all the invitation the boy needed. "It's just not fair!" Henry blurted. "See, she's got a whole bunch of little brothers and sisters and, if her mother doesn't need her home right after school, then most rehearsals, her little brother is hanging around and interrupting the read-throughs. But she's already had to miss two rehearsals and she's trying to keep up with regular classes and if something has to give, I know it's going to be the play, but she doesn't want it to be and I don't think she should have to quit if she doesn't want to!"

Rumple nodded soberly. "I begin to understand the situation. And," he nodded, "you're quite right. As you describe it, it's not fair. Nor is it necessarily solvable."

Henry blinked. "You know I wasn't asking you to—"

"I know," Rumple replied, not at all put out. "I did ask, after all. Although…"

"Grandpa?"

Rumple hesitated. "Is it the rehearsal _times_ that are problematic? What I mean is, if you and she…" He considered. While it was clear to him that his grandson's feelings for the girl in question did appear to run somewhat deeper than casual friendship, he suspected that it was still early days for that relationship. Best to take Henry's statement about their being mere friends at face value for the time being, "…and other cast members were able to find a more convenient time to convene, perhaps the young lady would be able to keep up. Or, if not to rehearse, then to study? Just a thought."

Henry frowned. "Maybe," he said slowly. "Maybe if we got a study group together at her house. I mean, it's a little nuts over there with all those little kids around, but maybe if we got them settled in first or," his eyes widened, "or if we were to set it up so while most of us were studying, one of us would take a half-hour break to keep an eye on the little kids, and then after that half-hour, they went back to the group and someone else…!" A broad grin split the boy's face. "That might actually work! Thanks, Grandpa!"

Rumple smiled. "If I were asked about the matter, I'd be forced to acknowledge that the solution was already staring you in the face. I merely pointed you toward it. But while we're on the subject of breaks, I do believe that you might have taken yours a trifle early. If you're ready to resume," he continued, "I think you know where the dustpan is kept?"

Henry ducked his head, but didn't bother hiding his smile. "Oh, right. Sorry. I'll get back to it. And Grandpa?" He smiled. "You can tell August he's right."

* * *

"I think I spot a flaw in your plan," Ursula said. She, Cruella, and Lily were sitting in Granny's in a corner booth. It was suppertime and the place was packed. Thanks to another glamor spell, all three women bore the semblance of teenaged girls.

Lily lifted a forkful of salad to her mouth and set down the utensil. Once she'd finished chewing and swallowing, she asked, "Oh? What's that?"

"We're the only ones here in school uniforms! I mean, I agree with you about adults not paying much attention to a trio of well-behaved teenagers who aren't sporting tattoos, visible piercings, or clothes that look like they were borrowed from a Tim Burton movie, but every other kid in this town puts on normal clothes once they get home!"

Lily grinned. "I know."

"You know?" Ursula repeated.

"Yeah. Nobody worth knowing would dream of wearing their school uniform in public outside school hours. I mean, okay, if you've got a dentist appointment right after class, that's one thing, but you'd still change before you went out for supper. Unless you were some kind of misfit or social outcast. Now, do up your top button." She frowned. "You, too, Cruella. And maybe we should've left our skirts longer, after all."

As Ursula complied dubiously with Lily's instruction, the restaurant door opened and a group of teens strode in. They looked around, confidently. As their eyes fell on the trio, one of them snickered and elbowed his friends. Another rolled her eyes. With condescending smirks, the youths stalked past the women's table, clearly going out of their way to do so. "Guess the latest curse brought in a couple from the land of misfit toys," one of the boys stage-whispered.

Someone giggled inanely as they moved on.

Lily's grin grew wider. "And that," she said decisively, "pretty much ensures we won't have to fend off a bunch of hormonal adolescents trying to hit on us. Or did you want to spend the evening flirting and giggling?"

Ursula had just taken a sip of her soda and came very close to choking on it. "Nooo," she managed when she was mostly recovered. "No, I may resort to Dark Magic on occasion. I might mutilate, maim, or destroy, if the mood suits. But I don't think I've ever quite stooped to cradle-robbing." She feigned a virtuous expression that wouldn't have taken in a toddler. "I do have _some_ standards, when you get down to it."

"I don't know, dahling," Cruella said thoughtfully. "The husky one had potential. And if his watch was any indicator, he's not wanting for money."

"He's young enough to be your grandson," Ursula snapped.

"Son, thank you," Cruella shot back. She sighed. "And I suppose you're right. Pity, that."

"Any other complaints?" Lily questioned.

Ursula shook her head. "I believe you might know what you're doing after all. So… what _are_ we doing?"

"For now?" Lily said, "We're having dinner and keeping our eyes and ears open. The more we find out about what's going on in this town, the better it'll go if and when we actually need to talk to people without sounding like the newcomers we are. And if you recognize anyone you know, point them out to me."

"As long as you're not planning to approach them for autographs," Ursula smiled.

Lily took another forkful of salad.

* * *

Moe French scowled at his phone. It wasn't the device's fault; he'd stopped by the shop earlier and been assured that it was working fine. But his daughter hadn't taken his calls or answered his texts in several days. Alarmed, he'd knocked on her door a half hour after the library closed, expecting to catch her before she either started supper or headed out to buy some.

Instead, a strange woman, one clearly dressed for an evening out, had opened the door with an expectant smile that had quickly dimmed when she'd realized that the man standing on her doorstep wasn't the person she'd been expecting. Moe had been startled at first. Then he'd realized that his daughter had a friend over. Maybe they were about to head off on some sort of girls' night out. And anyone who might be able to get his daughter spending less time with the beast she'd married was a good person for her to have in her life.

So, when this woman, this _Astrid_ had politely informed him that Belle had moved back into Rumpelstiltskin's house and that she—Astrid—was currently subletting the apartment, he'd been horrified. He hadn't had the gumption to storm over to the former Dark One's abode to rescue his daughter; Rumpelstiltskin might no longer be able to wield magic power, but that didn't mean he was without magical objects. Not to mention the very unmagical—but no less deadly for it—Walther PPK that Moe had already seen the business end of once. He hadn't yet tried to confront his daughter at the library, though it was coming. Instead, he'd left messages, pleading with her to get in touch with him. Thus far, there had been no response.

Moe paced back and forth in his living room. It wasn't the first time that Belle had tried cutting him out of her life, and while he didn't want to push things, he also didn't trust that leaving her where she was, with the monster she'd married, was wise or safe. He'd bewitched her… somehow. Maybe gotten the Queen to do it; they were certainly chummy these days. He half-wished that the two of them would be having an affair; it might be the one thing that would tear the blinders from his daughter's eyes at this point. Not that he wanted Belle to be hurt in that way; he just wanted her to come to her senses!

This was all the Dark One's fault. And if the Dark One was truly gone—and Moe wasn't certain he actually believed it—well, Rumpelstiltskin was still here. And his daughter, heiress to the duchy of Avonlea, could certainly do better than a crippled peasant deserter who _looked_ old enough to be her father and was probably old enough to be her great-grandfather!

And if he could only manage to talk with her, he knew he could make her see it.

* * *

Ursula's breath caught as the three people made their way to a table. At Lily's questioning look, she picked up her napkin and hastily scrawled: _short hair=Snow White; man=Charming; longer hair=Regina_. Lily glanced at it, nodded, and shoved the missive into her pocket. "Can we listen in?" she asked in an undertone.

Ursula frowned. "Not really. I can cast a spell that will project what they're saying, but without the right components, it won't be focused. It'd broadcast the conversation across the entire room. They'd know it in an instant."

Lily nodded glumly. "Okay. Let's trade seats."

"Pardon?"

"I can read lips," Lily said. "Sort of. I mean, I'll only be able to pick up what someone actually facing me is saying. And only if they're looking up and nobody's blocking. But picking up a quarter of the conversation is better than picking up none of it, and the more we can figure out about what's going on, the less likely we'll be to ask questions about stuff everyone living here ought to know."

"Actually, dahling," Cruella said, "there's a better way." She looked out the window and frowned. "Interesting," she murmured. "Eastern whip-poor-wills usually aren't around at this time of year. But this one's found a steady food source and opted not to migrate."

"Sorry?" Lily said, just as Cruella opened the window. Almost at once, a bird with mottled plumage, some ten inches long soared into the restaurant to perch on a hanging lamp.

"Ursula," Cruella said, "be a dear and camouflage the sweet little spy, will you?"

Ursula sighed. "Just make sure the sweet little spy doesn't move around so much," she said. "I've been spending power like it was water today and I haven't got enough juice left for a proper invisibility spell. Best I can do is sort of use a glamor to camouflage it so it blends in with its surroundings."

"You can't disguise it so it'll look like a sparrow?" Lily asked.

Before Lily could answer, Cruella cut in, "Sparrows are diurnal, dahling. Normally, I wouldn't expect anyone here to notice or care. But that's Snow White we're looking at. Much as it pains me to admit it, she just might know bird habits better than I do."

Meanwhile, Ursula was already focusing the majority of her attention on the whip-poor-will. "All right," she said. "Spell's cast. Give it a minute to catch and it should hold. But if Tweety Pie moves…"

"Then I'll stuff him and mount him on my newest chapeau," Cruella said. "But he won't." She smiled at the light fixture as the bird slowly faded from view. "Will you, dahling?"

"How does this work?" Lily asked.

Cruella smiled. "The bird will relay to me everything it overhears. It won't understand, mind you, but it will pass everything on. At which point, I'll transcribe it and we can all pore over it together. From past experience, some things will be a bit garbled and the spelling might get interesting, but if we read it aloud, we ought to be able to make sense out of it."

"Back at the farmhouse," Ursula said firmly. "We're not having a recitation of eavesdroppings here. And try to impress upon your potential millinery accessory the need to ensure that it doesn't release any _other_ droppings if it isn't to blow its cover."

Cruella's smile broadened.

* * *

Regina had spent several hours in her vault earlier. And while she'd been checking her spell books for a solution to the Charmings' problem as she'd promised, she'd also been carefully considering other factors. Now, her tone, though apologetic, was firm.

"It's just not worth the risk," she said. "I know you want to set things right, and under most circumstances, I'd be willing to help. But the risk to the town is just too great. I went up against Maleficent once, and that time? She was holding back."

"Sorry?" David asked.

Regina sighed heavily. "I'd traded away Rumple's curse to her for the sleeping spell. And," she nodded to Snow, "once _that_ was broken, and you arranged for Rumple to protect you from any harm I could cause in our realm, well, I decided I had to get you into a different realm. Which meant I needed to get the curse back from her. Unfortunately for me, she refused to part with it. As I recall, she thought it was too dangerous a thing to ever actually use. We fought, I won, and, some months later, we all ended up here. But all the while she and I were at each other's throats, she was trying to talk me out of my plans. Her heart just… wasn't in the battle."

Her voice took on a faint edge. "I don't think we'll be able to say the same thing this time. Even if she believes you when you try to tell her that you had no idea that the Apprentice was going to banish her child to another realm, that won't excuse your having kidnapped the egg in the first place. And as far as why you did it…" She shook her head. "I know you've already been beating yourselves up over it and I'm not about to pick up a cudgel and join in. But do you really expect her to be forgiving of your infusing her unborn child with Darkness?"

"Wait," David said. "I don't understand. I mean… Maleficent was, well… Dark. Why would her daughter's added Darkness be a problem?"

Regina gave him a hard look. "It's one thing to choose Darkness. It's another to have it thrust upon you. The two of you virtually ensured that Maleficent's daughter would never have the chance to be anything else and I wouldn't think she'd thank you for it. But even if you hadn't taken her child," Regina continued, "that still doesn't alter the fact that you," the look she now turned on David was penetrating, "force-fed her Rumple's magic restoring potion. I imprisoned her under the library for twenty-eight years _and_ kept her around to guard the failsafe device after your daughter killed her. Expecting her to be in any mood to listen stretches credulity. Expecting her to hear any of us out and then smile and agree to let bygones be bygones elongates it past all recognition. I know we discussed this earlier, but after careful consideration, we can't take the risk. At least, I can't. I won't. For this town and everyone in it to have its best chance," she intoned, "I'm sorry. You're going to have to find some other way to appease her daughter. Maleficent has to stay dead."

* * *

Back at the farmhouse, Cruella read out what she'd transcribed in a voice devoid of empathy or inflection, taking no notice of the reactions it elicited in the others. When she was done, she looked up and smiled brightly. "And that's the whole of it," she proclaimed. Her smile dimmed slightly. "Why, dahlings! Whatever is the matter?"

Ursula blinked. "You don't know?" she demanded.

Cruella shook her head. "I had enough trouble deciphering what the spy overheard without paying attention to the meaning. Why. What did I miss?"

"My mother," Lily said hollowly, "is dead."

"Lily…" Ursula reached out to her but the younger woman shook her head.

"Not now," she snapped.

Cruella sighed. "Well, that's a blow. We could have used her help. Ah, well. I suppose we're on our own, then."

"Cruella!" Ursula said sharply.

"What? It's not as though she'll miss her; she never even met her."

"You really are a—"

"No," Lily said, her voice still hollow. "She's right. I never met her. And now, thanks to Emma and the Evil Queen," her eyes went flat, "I never will. From what you've just said, there's a way to resurrect her that they've just ruled out because they aren't prepared to face her wrath. Well," she said slowly, "I hope they're ready for _mine_."


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Chapter Nineteen**

August stopped by the shop the next morning, bright and early, soon after Rumple had opened for the day. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help," he said. "But, I mean, even when you and I first met, if I hadn't known who you were, I wouldn't necessarily have clued into it. It's… not like you were much for maniacal laughter with a backdrop of thunder and lightning." His grin was teasing, but devoid of malice and Rumple smiled back in acknowledgment. Even back in the Enchanted Forest, his humor had manifested itself more in high-pitched giggles than the aforementioned 'maniacal laughter', but his path and Pinocchio's had never crossed in those days.

"Well," he said, "I suppose it's to be expected."

"I could go back again today," August offered.

Rumple shook his head. "To be fair, I'm not sure what it was I expected you to discover."

August raised an eyebrow. "Did you really want me to discover anything?"

Rumple blinked. A moment later, he shook his head. "I suppose that I was hoping you'd tell me that there was nothing to worry about," he admitted.

"Yeah, that's what I figured," August nodded. "But I just don't know. Not yet. I'm going to need more time. Unless… you don't _want_ to know if something's wrong."

He did and he didn't. He wanted to believe that everything was fine and that this was simply one more example of his inability to accept happiness when it came to him. He'd always been one for picking and chipping away at everything positive in his life until he destroyed it and there was no reason to believe that losing his Darkness had cured him of _that_ particular shortcoming. But hiding away from the truth didn't mean it wouldn't seek him out at the most inopportune moment. In fact, if past experience was anything to go by, it almost certainly would.

"I _need_ to know," he admitted. "If it is what I fear, then perhaps I can help her surmount that particular hurdle. And if I'm wrong, then the sooner we can confirm it, the sooner I'll be able to put that fear to rest."

"Okay," August said, placing his hand gently on Rumple's shoulder. "I'll keep at it, then. And, hey, if you need to talk, you know you can call me, right?"

Rumple nodded, glad of the offer, even if he still had no intention of availing himself of it.

* * *

Cruella went to bed early, while Ursula watched a late-night talk show on the television. When she finally turned off the set and passed by the kitchen, she realized that she wasn't the only person still awake. "Lily?"

Lily stared at the cup of coffee on the table before her. It wasn't until Ursula took two steps into the room that she said dully, "Not a great time."

"I understand."

Lily sighed heavily. "Do you? I-I know you lost your mother when you were a kid, but at least you knew her! I've been dreaming of meeting mine ever since I found out that she wanted me, that she'd never have given me up, that…" She sucked in her breath.

"And thanks to Emma and her perfect family, that's not going to happen," she went on. "I'm never going to see her or talk to her or…"

Ursula started to place a hand on her shoulder, but then she remembered that Lily didn't like to be touched. Instead, she sat down in the chair that faced Lily across the table. "There might be a way," she said softly. "I mean," she added hastily when Lily looked up, "I mean, I don't know how to go about doing it, but that conversation she and the Charmings were having in the diner… I know finding out about Mal knocked you for a loop, but I think we've been overlooking one point."

"Yeah?"

Ursula smiled. "Regina was telling them that she _wouldn't_ resurrect Mal. Not that she _couldn't_ do it, but that she wouldn't. That means it's possible."

Lily's eyes widened and, for the first time since they'd gotten back from the diner, Ursula heard a note of excitement in her voice. "How?"

"Well, that's the thing," Ursula admitted. "I don't know. Magic isn't supposed to be able to bring back the dead. But if there's a way to do it, there are only a few people around who'd be capable of pulling it off."

"Think any of them would help?"

Ursula smiled. "Well, not knowingly, but I have a few ideas for getting around that part…"

* * *

"Uh, Grandpa?" Henry spoke up with uncharacteristic nervousness. "Is there… any way that I could have Saturday afternoon off? I'll come in early on Sunday and help out before we open or I'll make up the time after school."

Rumple raised an eyebrow. "As I recall," he remarked, "you requested this position in the first place. Rather strenuously. Not finding your duties as exciting as you'd hoped?"

"It's not that!" Henry protested. "It's the play. Or Cecily. Cecily and the play. A few of us are going to meet on our own and rehearse some of her scenes, because she can't always make the rehearsals. She spoke to Mr. Quince—he's the director—and he told her that as long as she can still learn her lines and the blocking, she can be in the show, but if she can't keep up, he'll have to get someone else to take over her part."

"So, you want to help her to… keep up," Rumple stated.

Henry hesitated. "You know, in the play, she's… kind of… my love interest."

Rumple's eyebrows shot up. "No, I didn't," he said. "But not outside the play?"

"We're friends," Henry said automatically. "But… okay, fine. When I realized that we do have to kiss on stage at the end, I kind of… I guess, you could say I've been getting myself used to the idea. And I think I'm all right with it. I mean, I do like her and all. And it's just for the play. But I don't know how I'll feel about anyone else in the part. And plus, Cicely's so good. And whoever Mr. Quince picks won't be as good, because if they were, they'd already _have_ the part. And…" He stopped. "Anyway, some of us want to meet up outside school and go over the scenes. It's not like we can't all use more rehearsal time. And I'm the only one who has something on for Saturday afternoon." He looked up and met his grandfather's eyes. "It's not that I don't like spending time here with you. I do! But I don't want to be the reason Cicely can't stay on top of her part and has to drop out, either."

Rumple considered. "How long would you need to rehearse?" he asked finally. "One hour? Two?"

Henry thought about that. "I don't know," he admitted. "I guess it depends on how long it takes us to get it right."

"Well," Rumple said slowly, "I'll not pretend I can't manage without you. I've done so for a number of years, after all. However, I must admit I'll miss your presence. And, this isn't the first time that you've brought up both the play and your classmate in conversation."

"I'm sorry," Henry said quickly. "I guess I should be focused more on my work when I'm here."

"Not at all," Rumple said, smiling now. "Actually," he said, after a moment's hesitation, "I confess I'm more than a little curious about this piece that's so captured your interest. Thus far, I've refrained from seeking out a copy; reading something meant to be performed generally pales in comparison to a live recital. Suppose," he suggested, "you come here in the morning to perform your usual duties. After lunch, you may go off with your fellow thespians and practice as you suggest. And then," he continued, with a peculiar mix of apprehension and hope, "assuming you're satisfied with the results of your rehearsal, perhaps you might want to share them with me?"

"Y-you mean… you want to see the scenes we're going to practice?" Henry asked.

"Well," Rumple hedged, "if you're amenable, of course. It's a request, not a requirement." He shook his head, still smiling but somewhat more sadly. "I'm not laying out the terms for a deal."

Henry's eyes widened slightly. Then he grinned. "Yeah, okay. Sure! I'll have to ask the others, but… yeah. If you want us to."

Rumple's answering smile was still somewhat tentative. "You might get a more favorable response if you assure them I'd not turn anyone into a toad should a line be missed here or there."

Henry laughed. "I'll tell them," he said, reaching for a polishing cloth. "Uh, Grandpa?" He held up the bottle of furniture polish. "You wouldn't have any more of this renewing potion, would you? I'm getting low."

A glint of amusement shone in Rumple's eyes. "Let me check the back room," he said, chuckling a bit himself as he reached for his cane.

* * *

It was with a trepidation that wasn't entirely feigned that Lily stepped into the library the following morning. She had Ursula's warning about the glamor spell still ringing in her ears. It wouldn't last longer than eight hours maximum and would likely begin to fray in about half that time. She wouldn't feel any different when it did, and there was no way to be certain whether the first signs of unraveling would affect her face, her voice, or her outfit. She checked her sweater once more and lifted her arm upwards in an approximation of a wave, taking care that her sleeve didn't slide downward to expose her wrist. The glamor spell was concealing her birthmark; she'd asked Ursula to make sure of that. There might be only one person in this town likely to understand its significance, but it was the sort of thing people tended to remember, and she couldn't risk Emma finding out about her presence until the right moment arrived.

No, for now, she was here on a fact-finding mission. If there was one thing she'd gleaned from the conversations last night—not the one Cruella had been monitoring, but the ones taking place at the other tables that she'd been following out of boredom—it was that they'd picked a good time to come to Storybrooke. While she, Ursula, and Cruella were the town's latest newcomers, they weren't the only ones who hadn't spent the last thirty years here. Roughly three months ago, a large number of denizens of the Enchanted Forest had arrived and, while they were assimilating well, they were still learning the lay of the land, adjusting to technologies the others took for granted, and, on the whole, asking the sorts of questions that Lily and the others needed answers to.

And while Lily wasn't about to go stopping people on the street to question them, it occurred to her that if one needed to do research, the library was probably the most logical place to start. Surely there would be some books of local history on the shelves.

As she made her way to the catalog—one of those old-fashioned banks of drawers that had been on their way out when she'd been in high school—a friendly voice called from the desk, "Good morning."

She spun to find herself looking into a pair of equally-friendly blue eyes. "Hi," she mumbled. "Uh… I'm just looking."

The librarian nodded encouragingly. "Well, you're in the right place. Let me know if you need any help."

Overly-friendly people always got her hackles up. As did people who smiled too much. Still, she forced herself to smile back. "Thanks," she said, turning back to the catalog. She pulled out the drawer labeled STI–STR and rifled through it. A moment later, she frowned, perplexed. How could there be nothing on Storybrooke? She flipped back through the cards. _Storyboarding… Storybooks… Storying…_ Nothing.

"Having trouble?" The librarian was suddenly behind her and Lily tried not to jump. "I'm sorry," she went on hastily. "I don't mean to pry. But if you're looking for something specific, perhaps I can help."

Lily sighed. "Just information on the town."

The librarian smiled. "I guess you're one of the Sherwood Forest refugees," she said.

Lily nodded.

"I'm Belle."

"Starla." Maybe she should have given a different name. Maybe that wasn't a common name in the Enchanted Forest or Sherwood Forest or wherever it was she was supposed to be from. But the librarian—Belle—kept smiling.

"I know this town can be a bit overwhelming at first," she said warmly, "but you'll get used to it. I don't know that we've any books specifically about it, but I can point you toward some on the local geography. Or if there's anything specific you want to know about the town, perhaps I can give you some answers."

Lily gave a short, incredulous laugh. "Everything!" she exclaimed. "I feel so out of place here it's like I'll never fit in!"

Belle laughed back, but there was nothing cruel about it. "Well, let's see if we can't make a start, at least. At least," she added, "before you need to head back to class."

Lily remembered that she was wearing a school uniform. "Do I have to?" she wheedled. "I mean, I think I'll learn more here than I will in math or civics this afternoon!"

Belle sighed. "Well," she allowed, "I suppose it's not really my business. But I shouldn't think you'd want to make a habit of it."

Lily beamed.

* * *

Rumple looked up as the bell over the shop door jangled. "Well," he murmured. "I can't say I've seen you come in here before. What can I do for you?"

Robin Hood approached the counter somewhat nervously, but his voice was steady when he spoke. "I need your help."

Rumple sighed. "Now why doesn't that surprise me, I wonder," he murmured. "Well, then. What is it you want?"

Now, Robin did hesitate. "It's not for me, actually. I need your help for Roland."

"Your boy?" Rumple asked, surprise sharpening his voice. But his eyes softened as he took in the other man's demeanor. "Why?" he asked a bit more gently. "What's happened?"

Robin sighed. "Do you truly need me to go into detail? Much has befallen him in the last two years. And, while he seems to handle things well enough during the day, his nights are another matter. On Regina's recommendation, he's been seeing Dr. Hopper, but I was wondering whether there was any solution you might suggest."

Rumple winced. "I suppose I ought to thank you for alluding so delicately to my role in the affair," he murmured. "Truly, if I hadn't been compelled by the dagger…"

"That's only part of it," Robin said, when he realized that Rumple wasn't about to finish his sentence. "By my reckoning, the trouble began back in our land. Your son needed a way to reach Emma and Henry in Neverland. Against my better judgment, we used Roland to summon the shadow, which Baelfire then used to travel to that realm. Roland was only four at the time. And while his encounter with the shadow was brief, it was frightening."

"I can well believe that," Rumple nodded.

The smile that graced the outlaw's face was faint and fleeting. "Not long afterwards," Robin continued, "he was attacked by a flying monkey. It was another brief encounter, one Regina resolved handily, but still rather unnerving. But then, came the shock of being uprooted and transported to this new land. And yes, I'll not deny that his encounter with you, or rather, the shock of finding himself the target of one of _my_ arrows…" His expression grew pained. "Was there no other way?"

Rumple closed his eyes. "The dagger compelled me to obey any order issued by its wielder as swiftly and expediently as possible. Zelena ordered me to get her sister's heart. Had it been somewhere in plain view, or even had I known where you were keeping it, I could have retrieved it through magical means. Sadly, neither was the case. I knew you'd never hand it over if I asked for it. I didn't want to threaten your boy, but I also knew that to save his life, you'd give me what I needed. Had I threatened you, you'd surely have ordered your men to stand firm. Had I threatened one of your men, there was a chance they'd do the same. There… might have been another way," he allowed, "but I was compelled to select the one that would achieve the desired result in the quickest amount of time." He shook his head. "Still not an excuse, I know."

But Robin was nodding, and when he spoke, there was no recrimination in his voice. "I thought it might have had something to do with… old business. In Oz," he added with a sigh. "I'm relieved it didn't."

"What?" Rumple's eyes widened. "That business was between you and me. Your boy wasn't part of it; he wasn't even born then. No, I'd not have visited that debt on him. And even if you hadn't paid it in full by helping my son on that earlier occasion, you did in New York when you had me admitted to the hospital following my attack. Our slate is clean."

Robin absorbed that silently. Then he nodded again, smiling a bit for the first time. "I did wonder," he admitted. "In any event," he went on, sober once more, "being uprooted again after he'd settled into Storybrooke when we left for New York, and then your… well. I suppose, you didn't quite 'burst' into our new home, but your appearance there _was_ unexpected, to say nothing of your collapse… and then well. Finding out that the woman he thought to be his mother was the witch, seeing his nanny turn into a monster…"

Emma and August had shared the details of that encounter with him. Rumple nodded. "He has been having a time of it, hasn't he?"

"Night terrors," Robin nodded. "I don't know if they're getting worse, or merely more frequent, but I was hoping that there might be something that could help. It needn't be magical," he added. "But I'd hope it might be stronger than chamomile tea."

"Dr. Hopper had no suggestions?"

Robin frowned. "He did mention medications that might help. But he cautioned me that each would have other effects, some of which sound worrisome. He's hoping it won't come to that. As am I," he added.

Rumple pressed his lips together and nodded. "I can't cast magic," he admitted. "Not now. But a magical solution might yet be possible. Charms and potions are, well, rather like recipes. Blend the proper ingredients in the proper proportions and one gets the proper results." He took a breath. "Come back in three days," he said. "I'll hope to have something by then."

Robin nodded. "Thank you. As far as price…?"

Rumple shook his head. "There isn't one. But if you could bring your boy with you when you come, there is one thing I do owe him." He frowned. "Or rather, two."

"Two?" Robin echoed, eyebrows flying up in surprise.

Rumple nodded. And while his lips curved in a slight smile, his eyes were serious. "An apology and an explanation. I can't say either will help. But they won't hurt, either."

Robin regarded him for a moment, nonplussed. Then, almost of its own accord, his hand shot out to clasp Rumple's shoulder. He squeezed it once, then turned and hurried out of the shop.

Rumple watched him go, waiting for the door to shut before he touched his shoulder wonderingly where Robin's hand had been.

* * *

Lily left the library smiling triumphantly. Sometimes, all it took was a smile and a few indications of interest to get another person to open up. She got the feeling that Belle didn't have many people to talk to. Well, the town's loss was her gain; in just over two hours, Lily had gotten more information than she could have if she'd sat in the diner eavesdropping on the clientele for two solid weeks.

As she walked back to the farmhouse, she was mentally reviewing everything Belle had told her.

_Emma broke the curse. She had a boy she gave up for adoption._ (She was still trying to wrap her head around that one. If Emma had hated her time in the system so much, how could she have risked her own child ending up in it?) _Regina adopted him, which means that he's also Snow White and Prince Charming's grandson. Which might explain why Regina's friendly with them now. And his father was Rumpelstiltskin's son, and Belle's his wife, and…_

Oh, she should have taken notes. She thought she had the main details straight—at least, about the people who mattered most to her plans. But Ursula and Cruella would want to know about everyone.

Lily was glad she had more than three miles to walk. Hopefully, it would give her the time she needed. And if she forgot anything, well, she could always go back to the library tomorrow and chat up Belle again.

In fact, if Belle was Rumpelstiltskin's wife, chatting her up was probably one of the smartest things she could do.

* * *

Lily wasn't often the center of attention. In fact, she'd generally made a career out of sitting on the sidelines, unobtrusive and inconspicuous, observing those around her, and learning all she could about what made them tick and what she needed to do to keep them from interfering with her life. It wasn't that she necessarily had some scheme or plot fermenting at the back of her mind. Most of the time, she really didn't. But when you were on your own, living from hand to mouth, scraping by without friends, family, or any other safety net, and knowing full well that if anything were to happen to you, nobody would even notice that you were gone, well, you did your best to make sure you could tell which way the wind was blowing and make sure that it was generally at your back. She knew she wasn't particularly likeable. Her adoptive parents had rejected her. Emma had turned from her _twice_. And in her mind's eye, she saw a long parade of abusers, manipulators, and indifferent observers, uncaring throngs who didn't care how she suffered, so long as it didn't involve them… No, Lily had learned early that she was safest in the background, so long as she stayed alert to the people and events moving on about her, evading what might harm her and taking advantage of what could benefit her.

Still, she had to admit that it felt good to have Ursula and Cruella hanging on her every word.

"You mean," Cruella snorted, "the Dark One actually went and _married_ the little mouse? I never thought he'd actually take up with the help."

"Didn't Joey Feinberg find you checking hats in a nightclub?" Ursula murmured.

"That was temporary, dahling," Cruella smirked. "Just until I found someone in this land who could make me more established. Once _Joseph_ started courting me, of course, I gave it all up."

"Still," Ursula said, "from what you're telling us, it doesn't sound as if Regina's playing a part. It seems she really has cozied up to the Charmings."

Cruella nodded. "I might have thought she was acting," she drawled. "I mean, it's not like old Leopold ever guessed what was going on in her head. Or little Snow."

"Not the sharpest swordfish in the sea, either of them," Ursula pointed out.

"No," Cruella went on, "and when it comes to Darkness, the more you let it out to play, the less it wants to come inside when the game's over. I don't think she could pretend for long. Strange as it seems, walking back to the light would be marginally easier for her than staying in the darkness while trying to pull the wool over everyone's eyes, I think." Her pensive mood passed and she shrugged. "Not that I've ever bothered experimenting on that front, of course, dahling. Once I found out how delicious things were on the shady side of the street, well, I never looked back."

Ursula sighed. "You make a good point, though." She looked at Lily.

"What we overheard last night didn't necessarily _prove_ Regina had switched sides. Light or Dark, most rulers would think twice about resurrecting someone who could lay waste to their dominion in a heartbeat. But couple that with what you found out this afternoon, and I think it's obvious that revealing our presence to her and trying to enlist her help would be a waste of time."

Lily nodded glumly at that.

"Mind you," Ursula went on, "I'm still not convinced about Rumple."

"Belle said he's not the Dark One anymore," Lily pointed out.

"Yes, and she might believe it. But," Ursula glanced at Cruella, "he _can_ be twisty. And he's a good deal more patient than Regina ever was. You ask me, I'd say it's to his advantage to have everyone thinking he's turned over a new leaf. And while Regina might have somehow been able to change her ways, I'm finding it much harder to believe that the Darkness would just… let its human host go."

"I don't know," Lily said dubiously. "Belle seemed pretty sure."

"Well, she would," Cruella snorted. "That little bookworm was so besotted with him back in the Enchanted Forest. I shudder to think what she must be like now. Still," she allowed, "it would be helpful to know the truth for certain."

Ursula and Lily nodded. And then, Ursula smiled. "You know," she said slowly, "there's Darkness… and then there's _hatred_. And while the two can often go hand in hand, they don't have to. And if you ask me, the latter can sometimes prove to be an even stronger force."

"Sorry, what?" Lily asked, with some irritation.

"It's just occurred to me," Ursula said, "that there might be someone in this town that _I_ can talk to. Someone who owes me a favor. Among other things."

"Wait," Cruella said, eyes growing wide. "Him? What makes you think you can trust him?"

Ursula's smile turned predatory. "I don't have to trust him," she replied with a slight chortle. "I just have to _use_ him…"

* * *

"You're going downstairs?" Belle asked, as Rumple headed for the basement door.

Rumple couldn't quite miss the dismay in her voice, as much as she tried her best to conceal it. He closed his eyes, thinking for a moment. She was _trying_ to trust him. He knew she was. And while it would have been so much better if she didn't have her doubts, he could scarcely blame her for them.

Of course, it still hurt. Even if there was sound basis for her mistrust, even if she really should give him the benefit of the doubt, he knew full well that he'd taken advantage of her faith in him in the past. And… And she wasn't the only one with trust issues. He was still afraid to open up, still afraid of saying or doing or wanting the wrong things, still afraid to believe those around him when they said that they wanted to be there for him if he needed support, afraid that if he ever took them up on it, they'd let him down as they—and so many others—had in the past.

It wasn't paranoia if they really were out to get you.

It wasn't cowardice to refuse to stick one's hand in a furnace.

But this was _Belle_ , who had loved and trusted him when nobody else had. And even if she'd subsequently banished him, it had scarcely been without cause.

But if she hadn't banished him, hadn't shown how far she might go when she was angry or upset, he might not be so nervous about opening up to her now.

If she hadn't banished him, he would have still sought about until he found some excuse to shut her out. Because letting someone in was allowing oneself to become vulnerable. Opening oneself to the possibility of love and friendship meant opening oneself to the possibility of pain and betrayal. But without his Darker nature whispering at him, stoking his fears, soothing his anxieties, telling him that with its power coursing through him, he needed nothing else, well, his fears and anxieties hadn't gone away, but it was getting easier to fight through them. And if he wanted Belle in his life…

_…Then he couldn't lock this part of it away from her. The others were still going to be asking for his help and, depending on circumstance, he would likely provide it. Magic, however limited, was still going to be a part of his life. And if Belle was to be, as well, then…_

He took a deep breath. "I am," he said, trying to sound calm. He opened his eyes and turned back to face her. "Perhaps… you'll accompany me?"

Belle's eyes widened. "You… you want me. Downstairs. Where you do…"

"Well," Rumple brazened, "it's not as though you've never seen me work magic before." He took another breath. "And I could use another set of eyes, I think," he added softly.

Belle took a step toward him. "Why?" she asked, but without the accusatory edge he'd been half-dreading. "What is it you need to do?"

"With any luck," he replied, feeling some of his apprehension slide away, "ease a child's slumber. And perhaps make amends for my part in disturbing it." Briefly, he shared with her the details of Robin Hood's earlier visit. When he was done, Belle shook her head sorrowfully.

"The poor thing," she murmured. "And this has been going on for how long?"

"Robin didn't say precisely. Only that things seem to be getting worse. So. Somewhere in my collection of spell books is the recipe for the charm he needs. It's been a long time since I required the written word to refresh my memory. One advantage of being the Dark One was the ability to retain any spell I encountered. The same held true for my mastery of charms and potions. Once learned, the recipe stuck. Unfortunately, that talent's gone now. Perhaps, in time, it will return, or I'll develop it anew. But Robin's son shouldn't have to wait that long. So."

"So," Belle said slowly, "you need to find the recipe for that charm."

Rumple nodded. "I confess I've long been in awe of your talent for research," he said, smiling a bit now. "And I think I have to consider that there's a greater likelihood of my erring with either the ingredients or their proportions this time out. Perhaps, if I could ask you to double-check my puttering before I pass on the charm to its recipient…?"

Belle nodded. "Of course," she said warmly, falling into step behind him. On the threshold of the stairs, she suddenly, impulsively, clasped his hand in hers and, when his disbelieving brown eyes locked on her blue ones, she gave him a small smile. "Thank you," she said, almost in a whisper, "for letting me in."

His answering smile was equally small, but no less relieved.

* * *

Leroy's eyes widened when he saw the open chest. "It's all…?" he breathed.

Killian's smile was guarded. "Real? Of course. I know better than to cheat a dwarf, mate. Particularly one on good terms with a fairy." He lifted his eyebrows. "So. Do we have a deal?"

The dwarf was still gazing, almost mesmerized, at the coins in the chest. "For that much…" he began dreamily. Then, he seemed to snap back to normal. "For that much, I'll get your ship built, Captain. I'll need to bring in a few other people." He ducked his head. "I've made fishing boats, but nothing on the scale you're asking. With the price you're offering for the job, though," he smiled, "I don't see that as a problem."

"Excellent news, Mr…"

Leroy shook his head. "The name's Leroy, Captain. Just Leroy. At least," he said with a gruff smile, "until I pick up my axe and see what the handle says."

"Sorry?"

Leroy waved his hands in his direction as a dismissal. "For now, it's just Leroy," he repeated. "Hope you won't lose this one like you did the last."

Killian shook his head. "It was traded fairly, mate. And I do think I got the better end of that deal. So. How long?"

The dwarf's brow furrowed as he seemed to run through several calculations in his head. "I want to tell you a year," he said finally, "but it might stretch to two. Maybe a month or so past that."

Killian sighed. "I can't say I don't wish it could be sooner, mate," he admitted. "But I know how long it generally takes to build a good ship and the time you're quoting me is more or less what I expected. I can commission you to build it now, or I can spend the next few weeks trying to find someone who can build it faster and in the end, I suspect I'll be coming back to you, forced to admit I can't do better, and it'll still be roughly two years before she's sea-ready. Only I'll have wasted several weeks casting a net in vain for someone who can do the job faster."

"Faster?" Leroy shrugged. "You might find someone. I don't know. But better? You won't."

"I believe you," Killian said. "So. A deal, then?"

Leroy extended his hand. Killian clasped it with his good one. "Deal," he said. "You need a lift back to town?"

Killian shook his head. "I think I'll just walk about on the docks for a bit," he said, "and try to picture my new vessel moored at one of them."

Leroy snickered. "Sure, pal. You do that. Me? I got work to do. Hi ho."

With the dwarf's departure, Killian had the marina to himself. He'd brought Leroy here to show him design elements that he fancied from among the ships in harbor. This prow, that mast… and soon, not tomorrow or the next day, but soon, one would be his. No ship would ever replace the _Jolly Roger_ in his heart, but he'd traded that ship fairly for the bean that had carried him to Emma in New York and he didn't regret having done so. Still, a captain without a ship was—

Something cold, slimy, and reeking of seaweed slapped his face and wrapped about his mouth, gagging him and jerking him out of his reverie, while another band, strong as steel pinned his arms to his sides. And an equally-cold and somewhat-hoarse voice hissed in his ear, " _Hello, Hook…_ "


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Any errors on naval time are my own. If I understand the Westmarine website's page on Ship's Bell Time properly, "four bells into the forenoon watch" would be 10AM. If I read it wrong and someone more knowledgeable can correct me, I'll fix it.  
> A/N: Just in case I'm not the only person out there who had to look this up, rum is made from fermented sugarcane products, including—but not limited to—molasses.

**Chapter Twenty**

 

One of the occupational hazards of being a pirate was coming face to face with one's previous victims. (Or, if one was ruthless enough to dispatch them to the Underworld before moving on, with their families.) Killian Jones had faced a number of such victims over the years. One such recent encounter had even been with a mermaid, or at least, he'd thought so at the time. All the same, his blood ran even colder than the clammy tentacle that was now wrapped about the lower half of his face.

"I need answers from you, Captain," Ursula gritted, "so I guess I'll have to free your mouth. But know this," she continued as a third tentacle coiled about his throat, joining the two already securing him. "A reticulated python can exert around six pound of pressure when it constricts around its prey. One of these?" The tentacle about his throat tightened just enough to be uncomfortable, "I'm thinking, oh… eight or nine. So, I'm about to ungag you. If you shout, scream, or in any way try to alert someone regarding your predicament…" She smiled as Killian wheezed, struggling for breath. "Do we have an understanding?"

Eyes bulging, Killian tried to nod. Still smiling, Ursula retracted the tentacle about his face and loosened the one about his throat, still keeping it close enough that he could feel its presence. She waited a moment for the pirate to finish wheezing and gasping in fresh air. As soon as he had breath enough to start cursing her, though, she tightened her hold on his throat.

"That's a warning, Hook," she said. "You'll answer me truthfully and civilly, or…"

"All right, all right," the pirate acquiesced between wheezes. "What do you want to know?"

"Well, first," Ursula said, "you can tell me why Captain Hook, scourge of the sea, is suddenly cozying up with the Dark One."

The pirate turned his head away from her and Ursula let him for almost a full twenty seconds, before wrenching it back to face her.

"Well?"

Hook exhaled through his teeth. "One learns, in my line of work, when to fight the current and when to ride with it. Currently, the Dark One has powerful supporters and I can't afford to have them all turning against me at the moment." He met Ursula's eyes squarely. "Let's just say, I'm forgoing a few battles in order to win the war."

"Some might say you're being downright friendly toward him."

"I've been chasing him down for a long time," the pirate snapped, irritation almost palpable in his voice. "To be so close to vengeance and yet so far gnaws at me. But if he suspects my motives, before I've the opportunity to settle the score, then that vengeance will be farther off still. I grant I might have been more of a hothead when first we met, but long years and worthy foes have taught me something of patience. I'm playing a part while I await my best chance."

Ursula considered that. Then she nodded slowly. "You and I," she said, "have something to settle as well. But, like you, I can forgo my vengeance for a time. And if you help me, perhaps I can stave it off indefinitely."

Hook regarded her warily. "What sort of 'help' did you have in mind?"

The sea witch smiled.

* * *

"I… uh… think I may have it," Belle said hesitantly, looking up from the heavy volume with the cracked red leather binding.

Rumple was at her side at once. "Let me see," he murmured. A moment later, he shook his head. "That would work," he said, smiling a bit to blunt his disappointment, "if Roland were a bit older. I used this one to make a charm for August a few weeks ago. But adder's ear moss can be dangerous to pre-adolescents. However…" He flipped the page and his smile brightened. "I believe that this will suit admirably." He tried not to smile at her excited intake of breath as his eyes panned the list of ingredients. "Lavender, valerian root, magnolia bark…" He frowned at the next one and turned to one of his units of shelves. No small vials and philters here; the smallest earthenware jar in this area would probably hold half a liter, while the largest would hold three times that. He checked the labels carefully. When he found squat, opaque vessel he needed, he uncorked it and sniffed with dismay.

"What is it?" Belle asked. "What's wrong?"

Rumple sighed. "Tomte thistle," he replied, holding out the jar to her. "Fresh, or at least, it should be. Unfortunately, the preservation spell must have run its course. See for yourself; it's dried out. Completely useless." He'd have to look in the others too, though he'd lay odds that the spell had failed in the moment when he'd driven his dagger through Pan's heart and into his own. When a spell-caster died, so too did their spells. There was no literature on the subject of whether a return to life would renew them. Understandably. So far as Rumple knew, he was the first spell-caster to have died and come back. He should have thought to check these jars while he still could have done something about them.

Belle gave the brown husks in the vessel an unhappy glance. "Can we get more?"

Rumple shook his head. "It's not native to this realm." He frowned. "I wonder…"

"Rumple?"

He hesitated. Just how much faith did he have in his magic now? Then, sighing, he reached under the counter and pulled out the small volume that Tink had given him.

"I haven't seen that one," Belle said.

Rumple shook his head. "It's a loan. It _may_ prove to be of some use."

"A… a loan. One of Regina's?" she tried not to let her distaste show.

"Tinker Bell," Rumple replied. "I… well. I was hoping to be able to acquire some basic grounding in light magic. Thus far, it's proving to be an uphill battle. But while I'm still struggling to master the first spell," he turned to the page on removing excess salt from soup for emphasis, "I think that there may be something of use a bit further in." He began turning the pages slowly. "She did say that there was a spell in here to keep ground spices from going stale. If there's a way to…" He stopped. "Here. Well. It doesn't _look_ especially complicated." He studied the words on the page carefully and tried to draw them into his mind. He was glad that Belle wasn't asking him what he was doing. In fact, she was looking carefully at the table before her, probably realizing that if he knew she was watching him, it would interfere with his focus. He didn't need any such interference now. Magic was, above all, an emotional endeavor. He had to concentrate on what he meant to do, on the boy he was trying to help. In his mind's eye, he pictured Roland as he'd seen him most vividly: a child in the woods surrounding the town, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. Rumple did have something of a soft spot for children, particularly dark-haired boys with no mothers in their lives. If he could get this spell to catch, he could help the boy and perhaps others. He could… He sucked in his breath and waved his hand over the jar.

Nothing. The leaves inside remained withered and brown.

"Rumple?"

He shook his head. "I really hoped that would work."

"Could… could you try again?"

Rumple took another breath and let it out. "Not now. Magic requires belief. And each failure makes that belief harder." His face crumpled as he lifted Tink's book for emphasis. "These spells," he continued miserably, "are ranked in order of difficulty. If I can't even master the first one, what hope have I of mastering the… the…" He closed the book with a sharp snap. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter which number it is. Right now, at this moment, it's beyond me. They all are."

Belle's hand was on his shoulder. "It's all right," she said. "We'll find some other way. Perhaps Tinker Bell could…"

If he could get to her when Blue wasn't present. And if Blue didn't return unexpectedly. As grateful as he was for Tinker Bell's assistance, he knew that her willingness to help him had not been without repercussions. And while he didn't know the price the Blue had demanded of her, it was safe to assume that if Tinker Bell continued to help him, the consequences would be more severe each time. It was enough that she'd extended herself once. He couldn't ask her to keep doing so.

He pressed his lips together firmly, trying to keep his frustration from erupting in tears. He needed to calm down. When he was calmer, he might be able to come up with a better solution. He reached up and squeezed Belle's hand, gently removing it with a sad smile. Then he walked over to a corner table and picked up his drop spindle and the basket of combed wool rolags, ready to be spun to thread. As Belle watched, he attached the leader thread and reached into the basket.

"I don't think I've ever seen you spin something that wasn't straw before," Belle murmured.

"This time," Rumple murmured, "it's not about magic. It's about relaxation." He gave the drop spindle a twirl and began feeding the wool to it, sinking into the soothing rhythm.

Belle watched him for a moment. Then she went back to the spell books. "Maybe there's another recipe," she said. "I'll keep looking."

He nodded and began a simple breathing exercise, closing his eyes, while he continued feeding the wool to the spindle. He wasn't sure how long he kept at it, before Belle exclaimed…

"Rumple!"

Jerked back to reality, he started and released the drop spindle. It whirled in reverse, the thread he'd been spinning reverting back to wool fiber, which flew about the basement workroom, covering every surface with a thin layer of short fine hairs. He wasn't sure whether to curse or to cry, but he knew he oughtn't to do either. It was just thread that he could spin again. No true harm had been done. No…

"I'm sorry," Belle breathed, almost immediately. "I didn't mean to startle you. But the thread… it-it turned golden!"

Rumple's eyes widened. Then they darted about the room. Search though he did, he could spy neither glint nor glimmer. "Are you quite certain?" he asked, fighting to keep his voice calm. "I thought I saw something like that the other day, but I couldn't be sure. I…" He stopped as Belle, looked down at the ingredients he'd been assembling on the worktable. Then, with a wondering expression on her face, she thrust the open tomte thistle jar toward him.

"I think some of the thread bits might have floated inside," she whispered.

As he took the jar, the fragrance—a combination of cinnamon, vanilla, and nutmeg, mingled with an earthy aroma he couldn't compare to any other—hit him almost at once. Incredulous, he looked down into it. Green twigs bristling with short spikey thorns and cuplike, indigo-blue flower-heads greeted him.

"I…" His mouth opened and closed several times. "I… Well." He felt exhausted, as though he'd just run a marathon, but it was a _good_ kind of exhaustion. "It would appear I have magic," he said, setting the jar down carefully.

" _Light_ magic," Belle whispered, reaching across the table to seize his hand.

* * *

Killian Jones returned to Granny's Bed and Breakfast with his head spinning. He'd had no idea that Ursula was in this town; he'd been under the impression that the Dark Curse had only ripped away those who had been dwelling in the Enchanted Forest, not Neverland. Then again, he'd scarcely bothered keeping tabs on the sea witch once he'd destroyed her dreams. She'd been a mermaid once, and mermaids could cross realms. Who knew where she might have traveled after they'd parted ways?

And now, she wanted to use him against Rumpelstiltskin. Well. It wouldn't be the first time that one villain had tried to manipulate him into attacking another. Pan. Greg and Tamara. Regina. Zelena. Rumpelstiltskin. Hell, he might as well add Ursula's father to that list. And now, the daughter was following suit.

The wise play, of course, would be to tell Emma what was in the wind. Except that it was one thing for a lass to know that she was being courted by a pirate—particularly one trying to leave his past behind—when she didn't know everything that past entailed. Tell her that he'd been disillusioned by the king he'd served who'd sent his ship in search of a deadly poison that would decimate an opposing force in a way too heinous for any dispute? Aye, she could understand why he'd turn to piracy, particularly when she learned that the mission had cost him the life of his brother. Tell her that he'd been seeking revenge on the Dark One for murdering the woman he loved? She hadn't condemned him. And certainly, she understood that he had sunk vessels that had fired on him, robbed, pillaged, and killed when necessary. But to her, those deeds were in the abstract. He'd given her bare facts—he'd sunk ships and people had died. He hadn't shared the details of a battle fought at sunset, when they'd put so many foes to the sword that it was impossible to know how much of the red in the water could be attributed to their blood and how much to the sinking sun's reflection on the waves. He hadn't described the lengths he'd ordered his men to go in questioning captives as to the locations of their valuables. And if he hadn't dared to share those parts with her, how could he tell her what he'd done to Ursula?

_Because the Sea Witch as good as threatened to tell Emma herself. Happiness for happiness. I stole her joy and she thinks to take mine in return. And where have I heard that tale spun before?_

Should Emma learn that he'd had a hand in _creating_ the sea witch—who clearly seemed bent of some mischief in Storybrooke, well! No matter that the deed had been perpetrated so long in the past. The seed he'd sown on that long ago day was coming to fruition and though the fruit might be rotten… He shook his head. Emma loathed it when he hid things from her, but he might have no better choice.

Because something Ursula had asked him before sending him on his way still perturbed him.

 _"Are you so sure that the Dark One has forgiven you? Maybe he's just biding_ his _time, lulling you into letting your guard down, the better to surprise_ you _later. After all, that's what he did to Cruella, Mal, and me. So why should you be any different?"_

Maybe Rumpelstiltskin had been a little _too_ amenable to reinstating their truce. Maybe Killian _was_ deluding himself, thinking that the crocodile wasn't waiting to snap his jaws shut about him. Why, hadn't Rumpelstiltskin even admitted as much when Killian had broached the subject?

_Oh, come now, captain. As much as I agree that it's time we put the past behind us, do you really imagine we can shake hands and end an enmity that's persisted for going on two centuries so easily?_

Maybe, when he'd gone on to say that it would take time and effort on both their parts, he'd only wanted Killian to _believe_ that he was willing to meet those requirements but, come to think of it, Rumpelstiltskin might just have been stating the prerequisites for peace, not agreeing to work toward it. So. Suppose, Killian thought, that he continued working with the assumption that Rumpelstiltskin was willing to move on from the past and, so believing, talked to Emma and the others about Ursula… And then, once Ursula was soundly defeated, while everyone was celebrating the victory, Rumpelstiltskin were to _then_ waylay him and exact the vengeance he'd meant to all along?

Killian's eyes narrowed. Ursula had promised to help him defeat the Dark One. (He'd seen no reason to disabuse her of the idea that Rumpelstiltskin was still he.) But Ursula had no reason to help him! She hated him and for good reason. _Unless, she was trying to pit him against Rumpelstiltskin to keep both of them from interfering with whatever she was planning! And if that were the case…_ If that were the case, then she might _also_ be accosting Rumpelstiltskin, perhaps at this very moment, trying to get _him_ to reassume their old feud. Something, Killian allowed, Rumpelstiltskin might be all too delighted to do. Particularly if the former Dark One had accepted a truce, not because he wanted to let bygones be bygones, but because he'd been fighting for his life and knowing that there would be one less person out there bent on taking it had been worth it to the old crocodi—

He slapped his forehead with a groan of frustration. If he could only be sure! He had no desire to betray Rumpelstiltskin, not unless the man was even now planning to stab him in the back. In which case, all bets were off and it was best to strike now, and not allow him the opportunity. But if Rumpelstiltskin truly had no designs on his life, if Ursula hadn't approached him as well, or if she had and he'd turned her down…

Killian sat awake for a long time, thinking things over and weighing his options. And when, at last, he decided that he might as well try to get some sleep and hope that an answer would suggest itself in the morning, the first pale fingers of dawn were stealing through the window curtains before fitful slumber finally claimed him.

* * *

"You seem unusually perturbed," Rumple greeted him as he pushed open the door to the shop. As was his wont, the former Dark One was polishing some knickknack or other behind the counter.

Killian nodded. "I need to talk to you," he said, stepping inside.

"Well, I'm hardly preventing you," Rumple said with a faint sneer.

Killian took a breath. "I… well. I suppose I've come to warn you."

Rumple didn't pause from his polishing. "Yeah?" he replied, sounding unperturbed. "What about?"

"The sea witch," Killian said, lowering his voice. "She's in town to settle old scores. And she's offered to forgive me an offense I once committed against her if I betray you to her."

Now, he did set the knickknack aside. "Go on."

Killian hesitated. "While, in the past, I might have jumped at the opportunity, I think it might be wiser if we were to join forces against her instead. She," he winced, "has no reason to think kindly of me at all. And if she's willing to ignore the history I have with her in exchange for my getting you out of the way, methinks it means you might be the only person who can stop her."

A peculiar expression stole over Rumple's face. "Indeed," he said thoughtfully, beckoning Killian closer. "Indeed. I do believe you're learning, Captain." Smiling, he extended his hand across the counter. Killian took it. And then, Rumple reached across with his other hand and tore Killian's heart from his chest.

As Killian doubled over, groaning and clutching at his chest, Rumple continued, "Unfortunately, I can't take the chance that you aren't trying some subterfuge of your own."

"What?" Killian managed to gasp. And then he saw Ursula step out of the back room to join Rumple—no, to join the Dark One, now with skin as scaly and golden as it had been at their second meeting.

The Dark One giggled. "Did you truly think I could bury the old hatchet someplace other than in your neck? The sea witch and I have an understanding, you see. One I suspect you'd already discovered when you came in here hoping to drive a wedge between us."

"She'll stab you in the back, just as you're doing to me!" Killian groaned.

For answer, Rumple took the sea witch's hand in his. "I rather doubt that," he said cheerfully. "For one thing, I'm doing this to your face. For another, my history with the sea witch isn't nearly as complicated as mine with you. But if time and fate should prove you right, at least I know this. You'll never have the satisfaction of knowing it." And the Dark One's hand contracted around Killian's heart as the pirate screamed—

—And flung back his bedclothes. He was in his rented room in Granny's bed and breakfast. And, from the look of things, it was something like four bells into the forenoon watch. It had been a dream and he'd overslept.

The burning question now, though, was whether his nightmare had been a prophecy…

…Or merely the product of the fears he'd gone to bed with.

Those fears weren't ungrounded. Perhaps it was the fate of a villain to be doubted even when trying to do the right thing, but really, when had doing the right thing ever gotten him what he wanted? He'd offered his services to Emma in the Enchanted Forest, willing to forego Cora's scheming and ally with her and her companions. His honesty had gotten him chained to the wall of a giant's keep. Greg and Tamara had used tactics similar to those Ursula was using now, pitting him against Regina. He'd gone to the Evil Queen in good faith, much as he was contemplating doing with Rumpelstiltskin. And Regina had flung him into a chasm, using him as bait to distract an undead dragon. He must be mad to think that he would fare any better trusting the Crocodile.

But was trusting Ursula any saner?

Killian reached for his leather jacket, hanging on the chair by his bed, and dug his hand into the pocket. Under normal circumstances, it was a bit early for what he was about to do, but after the nightmare that had awakened him, perhaps some fortification was in order.

Fortification on the order of fermented molasses.

* * *

Lily walked down the road toward town. She was starting to know her way around now, at least in the business district. She supposed that she might as well check out the school that she was supposed to be attending before the library opened.

The same gaggle of little kids that she'd seen out the farmhouse window the other day overtook her, chattering and laughing, just as they had before. The tallest, a girl of about thirteen or so with the kind of fine straight hair that never stayed tied up or pinned back, gave her a shy smile as she passed. Lily smiled back automatically, tensing up a bit until the crowd had moved a ways down the road. Then she relaxed.

She didn't want to get tied up in a conversation with the local kids, even if they seemed friendly enough. Certainly not when she had no intention of attending class. She knew how it would go.

_Hi! How come I haven't seen you around before? Who do you have for English? Are you in any clubs? Do you live nearby?_

Too many questions that she wouldn't have answers for. She could brazen past the first one easily enough. But in a town this small, there probably weren't more than two teachers for each subject and Lily didn't know any of the names. She didn't want to talk about extra-curricular activities. If she claimed to be in a club, it would either be one that didn't exist here or, with her luck, it would be one to which thin-hair belonged, and Lily would be hard-put to explain why thin-hair hadn't seen her at any of the meetings. And if she claimed not to be in any, then she'd be opening herself up to either being pestered to join one or being asked what she did with her time instead. And as to living close by…

No, Lily didn't want to get caught up in pointless conversations or anything else that would distract her. She was going to see the school, maybe hang around long enough to learn a few teachers' names, just in case… And then she was going to go pump that helpful librarian for more information.

And if she could plant a few doubts and stir up a little trouble while she was at it, then so much the better.

She was almost a block away from the red brick building when she spotted three people walking through a nearby park. They were deep in conversation and didn't notice her, but Lily wasn't taking any chances. She ducked into a recessed shop doorway—a restaurant, as it turned out—and pretended to be engrossed in reading the menu tacked up in a glass case in the entry. Maybe she was being silly. After all, it had been nearly twenty years since she'd seen him, and surely he would look older now than he had then…

But she was positive that the eldest member of the group had been the same old man—the same uncannily-perceptive old man—who had sought her out on a bus en route to Pittsburgh from Mankato and given her the book that had been guiding her steps ever since.

And Lily wasn't about to reveal her presence to him until she was sure whose side he was on.

* * *

Belle smiled a greeting when Lily entered the library shortly after noon. "Back again, I see," she greeted her.

Lily nodded. "You gave me a lot to think about," she said honestly. "I mean, back home, they still shuddered when they talk about Regina." She pretended that she didn't notice the librarian's slight sniff. No love lost, there. And possibly not all doubts, either. "And here…"

"Here, she's doing her best to turn over a new leaf," Belle said firmly. "She's far from the only one."

Lily nodded again. "But you're sure it's not a trick. I mean…"

Belle shook her head. "I know what you mean," she said, and her smile seemed to be frozen on her face. "But from all I've seen, I do believe she's trying to make up for her past."

 _But you're not sure she can._ Aloud, Lily asked, "Did you know her… before? I mean, back in our land?"

"She really was different then," Belle said firmly. "People do change."

"Like your husband," Lily nodded.

Belle's smile widened. "Just like him, yes."

Lily knew better than to push things farther now. It was obvious to her that while the librarian was spouting some insipid 'party line' about heel-face-turns and second chances, she didn't actually believe everything she was saying. Belle definitely hadn't forgiven Regina for the past—something that suited Lily just fine; she wasn't about to forgive Regina for her decision about leaving her mother dead. But even so, the librarian clearly drew a line between sharing recent history and spreading gossip. And if she wasn't going to dish any dirt on Regina or agree with Lily's suggestions that the Evil Queen's reformation might be a sham, then there was no way she'd consider any insinuations about the man she'd married.

At least, not yet.

Well. There was still time for that. Right now, while stirring up trouble was a nice distraction—which might pay off handsomely down the road— Lily was more interested in learning whether Rumpelstiltskin still had magic. If he did, that was going to be a problem.

Ursula had laid it out for her. With or without magic, Rumpelstiltskin's knowledge was a powerful weapon. They needed to ensure that he would either help them, or be kept from helping the heroes. But in order to take him off the board, they needed to know whether he still possessed power. Lily still wasn't sure how they were supposed to figure that out, or how Ursula meant to use her old friend to find out. But if Belle had been any more garrulous, Lily would have done a bit of sleuthing along those lines today.

Instead, she moved the conversation back onto safer ground. "So, how much of home made the trip over?" she asked. "I mean, if I went foraging in the woods around here, could I expect to find the same sorts of plants I knew back in Sherwood?"

Belle relaxed at once. "Let's go look that up, shall we?" she said briskly, motioning to Lily to follow her. "I shouldn't think there'll be much to find until spring, but a little research now won't hurt…"

Lily trailed behind her, smiling a bit to herself. She didn't really care what sort of vegetation abounded here, but people often disclosed details they didn't mean to when they let their guard down. Maybe she'd yet get something useful about Regina or Rumpelstiltskin out of Belle. And if not? Maybe she'd at least learn a thing or two about which plant life in these parts was safe…

…And which was _deadly_.

* * *

"I simply don't understand, dahling," Cruella groused. "What possible reason could you have in cozying up to the pirate now? I mean, it's not as though we don't have other means of keeping tabs on those hero types."

Ursula didn't answer at once. Instead, she stood gazing out the window, watching the snow flurries outside. Finally, after Cruella cleared her throat several times, she replied, "Yes, I know."

"Then?"

Ursula turned to face her with a sly expression. "It's not about using him to spy," she said. "It's about finding out where his loyalties lie."

"Come again?"

Ursula smiled. "Do you imagine I've told him everything we've learned since we arrived? Right now, I want to know two things. First, whether the Dark One is still the Dark One—and until we do know, I think it prudent we avoid using his name in casual conversation. Just as a precaution."

"Noted," Cruella nodded. "Why invite his scrutiny if we can avoid it?"

"Exactly. Second," Ursula continued, "I want to find out whether he and the pirate have truly made their peace, and whether it's still _un_ makeable. Because _if_ he's still the Dark One, then what Hook told me earlier makes sense. Pretending to be his friend while waiting for the chance to strike is exactly the kind of thing I'd expect. But that only makes sense if he still possesses his magic. If he doesn't, then I can't think why Hook hasn't already attacked. Unless…"

Cruella's eyes narrowed. "Unless it's no game and they really have set aside their feud."

Ursula nodded. "The rest of the town seems convinced that the Dark One has turned over a new leaf. So either Hook knows better, or—"

"Or he wants you to believe otherwise," Cruella said slowly. "Which seems unlikely. I mean, how would misleading you on _that_ score benefit him?"

"I don't know," Ursula admitted. "But until we find out which it is, I don't think we can proceed with our plans. We need to know the extent to which the Dark One can hinder us."

"Then why approach the pirate at all?" Cruella demanded. "Wouldn't going to the source be a better idea?"

"Well, it would be, _if_ we could be certain of getting a straight answer out of him," Ursula admitted. "But we can't. If he's truly lost his power, you don't expect him to admit it to us, do you? And if he's truly turned over a new leaf, then there's no guarantee that once we reveal our presence to him, he won't go running to the heroes."

"And you're so sure that the pirate won't be a similar concern, dahling? How?"

Ursula smiled. "Oh, let's just say that, after my little talk with him yesterday, I think I have a bit of leverage…"

* * *

Hoist on his own petard, Killian thought furiously, as he paced the pier in the twilight. He didn't know who to trust anymore. Either Ursula or Rumpelstiltskin might cheerfully stab him in the back or slit his throat. But Emma could shatter his heart. If he told her what was happening, he was practically inviting her to do so. If he didn't and she found out, it would likely happen anyway. The wise move was to be above board with her and tell her what was going on. He knew he should. But a confession of such magnitude could only be made at the proper time and that time, regrettably, wasn't now. It would have to wait until he could be certain that he could explain himself in a way that wouldn't have her spurning him in outrage. But as to when that time might be…

He had to stall. He had to keep Ursula from talking to Emma until he could find the right moment and the best words. For the first time in over two centuries, his life was finally sailing on a smooth course. He couldn't risk scuttling things now.

"Well?" a strident voice rasped behind him and he turned to see Ursula standing before him. It rankled him that he hadn't had warning of her approach. No splash to announce she'd emerged from the sea, no vibrations to herald her steps on the wooden pier. "What have you decided?"

Killian pursed his lips together, sucked in his breath, and exhaled. "We have an agreement," he growled, hoping that he was making the right decision.

The sea witch smiled, showing her teeth for the first time. "Splendid," she said, extending her hand.

As Killian shook it, he noted that it was almost as cold and clammy as her tentacles.


	21. Chapter Twenty-One

**Chapter Twenty-One**

 

Astrid could sense Leroy's tension when he met her at Ashley Herman's daycare after work. "Let's get a coffee," he said, and though he was smiling, there was no disguising the strain behind it.

"Uh… sure, Leroy," Astrid said, falling into step beside him. She tried not to feel nervous, but one of her guilty pleasures at the convent had been watching romantic comedies on late-night TV. (She'd had a TV, but had been expected to restrict her viewing to the news and public television offerings, hence the guilt factor.) Leroy had something to tell her and it wasn't good. She swallowed hard and wondered whether, after they'd finally found one another again, she was about to lose him.

He was going to break up with her. Oh, he'd be gentle and apologetic about it, tell her that she wasn't the problem, but that it just couldn't work. That Bossy and Blue had actually been right and that dwarves _couldn't_ love. That…

"Astrid? This okay, here?"

She blinked. He'd stopped in front of the same diner she'd been in the morning Belle had found her. Her heart plummeted. She _liked_ this place. She didn't want to get dumped in it! Well, she didn't want to get dumped at all, of course. But… But she found herself nodding. If he was going to do it, then no point putting it off. Granny's strawberry milkshakes were nearly as good. She could always go back there. "It's fine," she nodded.

Leroy led her, not to the counter, but to a booth and waited for a server to bring them each a menu, before he leaned across the table and took her hands in his.

"I-I went to see Dr. Hopper today," he said in a voice that carried no further than her ears.

Astrid pressed her lips together. "You did?" she managed.

"Yeah. About what we talked about the other night."

His hands were tight around hers and starting to sweat, but she squeezed back as best she could. "And?"

"And," Leroy sighed. "And it turns out, I'm _not_ an alcoholic. But," he continued, even as Astrid's lips began curving upwards, "but that doesn't mean everything's okay."

"It-it doesn't?" Astrid echoed, wondering now where this was going.

Leroy shook his head. "He asked me a bunch of questions. Stuff about how often I drink and how I feel when I'm not drinking and whether it's been hurting my work and…" He took another breath. "Well, after I got done answering them, he told me I probably have got a problem with alcohol. Now, he did say it was mild," he added quickly, "but that it's still a bit of an issue. So, he wants me to keep seeing him."

He watched her carefully for a moment, trying to gauge her reaction. Then he blinked. "Sister? I-I know it's not terrible news, but why are you smiling _that_ much?"

At least he hadn't yet noticed that her eyes were watering. She blinked rapidly. "I-I thought you brought me here to br-break up with me!" she managed with a ragged laugh. "You seemed so serious that… that…"

Leroy blinked again. And then, he got up from the table and came around to her side of the booth, slid next to her, and wrapped his right arm around her shoulders. "How could you think that?" he asked incredulously. "These last eleven days have been better than any I can remember since I hatched. And now that the curse is broken and I've got my memories back, that's saying a _lot_. No, I don't want to break up with you. But I don't know if I'm going to be everything you want me to be for the next little while."

"I just want you to be the best person you can be!" Astrid exclaimed.

"That's what I want, too," Leroy nodded fervently. "But until I get there, while I work on this, I think things might get a little intense. Could be some storms ahead."

"We'll weather them," Astrid said. "Together."

Leroy clasped her left hand in his and squeezed. "Together," he repeated.

* * *

"He's with _them_ ," Ursula snapped, entering the farmhouse with a sour expression on her face.

Lily and Cruella looked up from the TV. Lily muted the volume, as Cruella asked, "Are you quite sure, dahling?"

Ursula hesitated. "Mostly. It's just barely possible that he's got his own game and he's happy enough to sit back and watch us and the Dark One have a go at each other. But I don't think so. The captain may play his cards close to his chest, but he usually likes flashing a trump or two. So either he's gotten very cagey—"

"You met him over a century ago," Cruella pointed out. "He couldn't have lasted this long without becoming a little more devious over time."

"True," Ursula acknowledged. She sighed. "That's the trouble with trying to be sneaky. You start assuming everyone else is, too. Maybe you're right. Well."

"Isn't there some spell you could use to know if he's lying?" Lily asked.

Ursula gave her a look that was midway between annoyance and approval. "There's one," she admitted. "It's a potion that works much like truth serum; it makes its drinker talkative and less able to hold things back. It doesn't make lying impossible, mind you; just a good deal harder."

"Can you make it?" Lily asked. "I mean, it sounds like something useful."

Ursula considered. "I suppose I _could_ ," she said reluctantly. "I know the recipe. A couple of the ingredients are only found in Neverland, but I can cross realms easily enough."

"So…?"

"So, all magic comes with a price and concocting that potion is going to take a lot out of me, especially the way I've been tossing glamor spells and concealment spells about like they were cheap as sand and clamshells. It's not just a question of stirring a few ingredients in a pot; that's simple enough. But I'll have to infuse it with a bit of my own power in order to get it to work. As low as my reserves are, I don't think I'll be able to brew up more than a single dose, and even that will drain me for a few days. So, as much as I'm enjoying wrapping the pirate about my suction cup—"

"Uh… Bad mental image," Lily muttered with a disgusted look.

Ursula smirked. "Pinned and wriggling on a rack any better?"

"Not really."

"Tough tilapia." Her lips twitched when Cruella giggled. "As I was saying, watching Hook squirm may give me a warm fuzzy feeling. It looks to me as though he's been trying to escape his past and I was kind of enjoying the idea of helping it catch up with him. All the same, when push comes to shovelnose? Hook's not worth what that potion would cost me."

Lily hesitated. "I think I might know somebody who is," she ventured. "If we can figure out how to get him to drink it…"

* * *

"You're pretty quiet," Emma said, as she watched Killian attacking his fish and chips at lunch the next day. "Everything okay?"

Killian finished what was in his mouth, chewing slowly and carefully as he tried to find the right words. "I suppose," he said with a pained smile, "I've been thinking on my past. For all I've tried to put the man I was behind me, at times, he does seem to loom ahead, blocking my path."

Emma sighed. "I guess I know what that's like," she admitted. "I think I've gotten a little better about letting my walls down, but opening up is still… hard sometimes." She smiled. "You make it easier."

His answering smile was warmer than it had been and the breath he exhaled sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. "Perhaps, that's part of the reason we're so compatible, love. We've each been shaped by our pasts and we're both trying to break free of those molds."

"Yeah. So, is this the kind of thing that might be easier to talk about? I can be a pretty good listener."

Killian nodded. "Aye, that you can, love. But I fear it might take more time to discuss than either of us has at present." He looked away diffidently. "Later, perhaps?"

Emma nodded. "Sure. Just name the time."

_Once I've managed to ensure that the threat posed by the sea witch has been neutralized, Emma, I promise you I'll tell all. But until then, I dare not risk it. And should her insinuations prove true, if Rumpelstiltskin is yet bent on settling our old score, then regrettably, telling you anything at this juncture would be unwise. You trust him far too much now. Perhaps enough to warn him of my suspicions. No, for now, I'll play my hand close and hope for a time when I can freely reveal its cards._

Aloud, he said only, "I promise you, love, I shall when I'm able."

Evidently, keeping secrets wasn't enough to set off Emma's superpower, for she only smiled, clasped his hand, and leaned in for a kiss.

As he brought his lips to hers, he wished he _could_ trust her enough to tell her all he wanted to right now, at this very moment. But prudence—a much more positive term than _cowardice_ , he reflected—won out.

* * *

Belle was reading in the living room when she heard Rumple's footsteps on the cellar's wooden steps. She set aside her book as the door opened and he emerged, a cork-stoppered glass phial clutched tightly in the hand not gripping his cane.

"Is that…?" she breathed, her eyes hopeful.

"The potion," Rumple nodded.

"And… and it'll work? I mean," she added hastily, "is it something you can test?"

Rumple smiled approvingly. "Well, it wouldn't be as effective on you or me; it's meant for young children, after all. But the fragrance is right; the color is right; and you and I both double-checked the measures earlier. At any rate, none of the ingredients are toxic. At worst, I've brewed up a placebo that tastes marginally better than most such draughts."

"Marginally?" Belle repeated.

"It's medicine, Belle," Rumple pointed out. "As much as it's meant to be palatable enough for a recipient who, perhaps, might not be old enough to understand the necessity of ingesting such a tonic, no amount of flavoring can eradicate the bitterness of some of the components." He shook his head. "It can't be helped. I even consulted Tinker Bell's volume to see whether it had any suggestions."

"And?"

Rumple sighed. "It advised adding a spoonful of sugar. To a brew that's already more than one quarter treacle." He shook his head. "I suppose it's to be expected when consulting a book of spells penned by a race that considers blackberry nectar a basic dietary staple."

Belle laughed. "Astrid prefers strawberry milkshakes, actually."

Rumple considered. "I suppose there's some small saving grace in that. Perhaps."

Belle smiled at that. "I guess I'd best head upstairs. I need to be up early for kickboxing." She took a breath. "Rumple… would you like to come with me?"

He blinked. "To the gym?"

Belle sighed. "You've seen me practice here. And-and I know I'm not very good yet, but I thought you might want to watch me, well, try to keep step with the rest of the class. The lesson's at nine, but I know that the shop opens later on Saturday."

"An hour later," Rumple nodded. "But if I were to accompany you, I still wouldn't be back in time to…" He paused, seeing disappointment flit across Belle's face to be replaced a moment later by an understanding nod. This wasn't right. Clearly, these lessons were important to Belle and she was trying to share them with him. As he'd been willing to share such magic as remained to him with her. When he looked at matters in that light, how could he not accompany her? And yet, he had certain responsibilities.

_But he also had an assistant who had promised to come in early tomorrow._

He frowned for a moment as he considered his options. Then he smiled. "Well. I suppose I can have Henry open the shop in my stead. I meant to work him a bit harder than usual, seeing as he's to have the afternoon off…"

"Is he?" Belle asked.

Rumple shrugged. "Some school play he wants to rehearse with his friends," he explained, trying to sound casual about it. "I asked if I might see the scenes after they'd polished them, though I suppose I'll only have the opportunity if his friends are bold enough to step foot in the shop."

Belle smiled sympathetically. "If they don't, it's their loss."

"And if they do," he smiled as inspiration struck, "perhaps they'll be less intimidated if you're present as well?"

Belle's answering smile made his heart leap, and he quickly pulled out his phone to text Henry about the change of plans. Once he had, he murmured, "I suppose I ought to ask Emma to supervise as well. As remarkable a young man as our grandson is, the shop tends to draw in all manner of people and I'm not certain it's safe for him to hold down the fort on his own.

Belle felt her smile freeze on her face, but she merely nodded. "Of course."

* * *

_He's opened up to me more in these last weeks than he ever has before_ , Belle told herself furiously, when she was alone in her room. _He's being honest with me, even when he's not sure if it's what I want to hear. But I didn't want to hear_ that!

What was the matter with her anyway? Emma was a friend, both to her and to Rumple. And asking her to be at the shop in case Henry ran into something— _or someone_ —he couldn't handle was far less problematic than the breakfasts they often shared at Granny's, right where anyone could see them.

And yes, Belle knew that was the whole point—that they were meeting publicly to make it plain that they weren't doing anything sordid behind her back. They'd even invited her along. They'd even offered to meet someplace other than Granny's, but Belle knew that as open and above-board as Rumple was trying to be, there were some things that simply felt he couldn't discuss with her, but could with Emma. She had a feeling that if she'd accepted the invitation, it would have been more of an intrusion.

And why shouldn't she intrude? Rumple was her husband, after all! He should be able to discuss anything and everything with her. He…

Her hands formed fists and she ground her knuckles into her temples. She was doing it again! She was making it about her. She wanted to be all Rumple needed. She wanted to be chosen. She didn't want to feel as though there was some rival for his attentions, not his dagger, not his power, and not Emma Swan!

But whether she liked it or not, Rumple needed more than her support. He needed someone who could relate to the loneliness and isolation that had shaped his early years and Belle, for all she'd often felt different from the other noble girls with her love of reading and her yearning for adventure, didn't have the same frame of reference. Rumple hadn't grown up with the love and encouragement of doting parents. He needed someone who had lived on the outskirts, their presence at times resented, at times barely tolerated. It wasn't something Belle would have suspected of the Emma Swan she knew now, but during their time in New York and afterwards, the sheriff had been quite candid about her early life. And those experiences had helped Emma to connect with Rumple in a way that Belle couldn't. Belle might deny and resent it all she liked, but it was the truth.

_But it wasn't fair!_

And she was being silly. She knew that whatever was between Emma and Rumple was no threat to her marriage. It might even be the opposite. She knew that Rumple probably would have called Emma to accompany Henry tomorrow, even if the two hadn't been meeting regularly. And he'd been completely up front with her about who he was calling and why. And he was coming to the gym to watch her practice tomorrow, not meeting Emma for coffee before opening the shop.

She _was_ being silly and she knew it.

But no matter how clearly she recognized it and how firmly she told herself so, she couldn't completely banish her hurt and resentment.

* * *

"It appears to be standing yet," Rumple murmured as he and Belle approached the shop the next day.

"Did you doubt it?" Belle asked with a laugh.

Rumple shook his head. "Of course not. But I've been wrong before. And Henry has gone poking about in the past."

"What, in the shop?"

Rumple shook his head. "Regina's vault. I've heard he almost released an Agraban viper once."

Belle frowned. "Why on earth would Regina keep an—"

"I imagine for the same reason she keeps an undead dragon under the library," Rumple remarked tartly. "Can you think of a safer place?"

"Well, Pandora's box for one," Belle replied.

Rumple's eyebrows shot up. "I don't believe she knew I had it at the time. I could suggest it to her, I suppose. Well. Care to come inside?"

Belle shook her head. "I think I'd best open the library. Later?"

Rumple nodded. "I'm not entirely certain what time Henry and his friends will be finished with their practice. Let's say three o'clock for now and I can call you if it's sooner." He smiled at her. "I did enjoy watching what you've been up to," he said warmly.

Belle flushed. "I get so out-of-step with the rest of the class."

"With the three or four individuals who seem to be the most talented," Rumple corrected. "The others seemed to be closer to your level of proficiency, perhaps even slightly beneath it."

Belle shook her head. "I'm trying not to get discouraged, but it's frustrating."

Rumple reached into his coat pocket and removed the stoppered phial he meant to give to Robin Hood when the thief returned. "I quite understand the sentiment," he murmured, giving the bottle a slight shake for emphasis.

Now, Belle did smile. "Thank you," she said. Then she leaned forward and bent her face toward his for a kiss. "Three o'clock or thereabouts, then," she repeated.

As she walked toward the library, she was still beaming.

* * *

Once inside the shop, Rumple greeted Emma and Henry and went into the back office to hang up his coat. When he returned to the floor, Emma was already in the process of shrugging into her jacket.

"Guess I'll head over to the sheriff station and see what's doing," she said. "The Apprentice still hasn't given us an update."

Rumple nodded. "The town line is quiet, I take it?"

"Yeah, my folks have the dwarfs watching it. And every day, they're drawing straws to see who gets to take a step over. So far everyone's come back safe and sound."

"Well, that's a relief," Rumple said with a good deal more sincerity than sarcasm.

"Yeah. Of course," Emma rolled her eyes slightly, "my mentioning it probably jinxed something somewhere, and any minute now, Leroy's going to come barreling down Main Street yelling about terrible news."

Rumple made a scoffing sound. "If you should ever choose to make that a field of study, I think you'll learn that jinxes aren't nearly so capricious. _Fate_ on the other hand…"

"Terrific," Emma's groan was mostly exaggerated. "I'll catch you both later."

Once she was gone, Rumple busied himself with arranging a tray of better quality fashion jewelry, while Henry continued cleaning the glass display cases. A few minutes later, the boy gave a small start and reached into his pocket for his cell phone. As he read the message, he exhaled resignedly.

"Trouble?"

Henry shook his head. "I guess we knew it was going to be rough anyway, rehearsing at Cicely's with all those little kids, but she just texted me. One of her sisters has an ear infection."

"Not serious, I hope," Rumple murmured.

Henry shook his head again. "Cis doesn't think so, but her mother says it's the wrong time to have a bunch of other kids coming over." He frowned. "At least, she's still okay to rehearse. If we can find a place, I mean. Nicholas is looking, but he's not allowed to have friends over when his dad's not home and Mr. Tillman's working today. I think Marie's also trying to find a place." He sighed. "If it were warmer, we could go to a park or the woods—"

"I think you'll find that the acoustics would leave something to be desired in the great outdoors," Rumple murmured. He hesitated. "How brave are your friends?"

"Brave?" Henry repeated. "What do you mean?"

Rumple smiled sadly. "Let's not pretend to be unaware of my past reputation. I'm well aware that my name has been used in the Enchanted Forest for many years to frighten young children into model behavior. Rather effectively, I might add," he continued, "though I've always failed to understand why the _Dark One_ would want leave well-behaved, _good_ children alone." He shrugged. "This shop has a basement. It's rather dusty, but you've both the time and the equipment to rectify that problem, if your friends are amenable to practicing there."

Henry blinked. "Well, everyone was okay about showing you the scenes when we got them right," he said. "Hang on; let me ask them," he said, typing quickly into his phone. Then he set it on the counter and picked up the spray bottle of glass cleaner again. A few minutes later, he picked it up to check his messages and broke into a smile.

"Good news?"

"Cicely, Amy, and Nicholas said 'Yes'. Paige is checking with her father. Marie," Henry hesitated. "Well, she says if everyone else is coming, she will too. Still haven't heard from Perry or—" He looked down at his phone again. "Paige can't make it, but she and Cicely don't have a lot of scenes together anyway. Perry's in… Okay!" He met his grandfather's eyes, still smiling. "We've got enough people. We can make this happen."

"Yes," Rumple said, adding a bit of tartness for form's sake. "Provided that the basement can be scoured of dust and cobwebs. You'll probably need to bring a lamp or two down, as well."

Henry nodded. "I'll get to it. Thanks, Grandpa."

"You are quite welcome."

* * *

Henry's schoolmates began to arrive slightly over an hour later. Rumple found himself glancing through the slats in the Venetian blinds on the shop windows every few minutes, watching them assemble, somewhat nervously, about the bench across the street.

He had half a mind to find some excuse to go into the back room before they started coming in, but something about Henry's demeanor stayed him. His grandson, he realized with no small measure of astonishment, didn't want or expect him to hide himself away. Still, something made him say, "Perhaps it would be best if you were to greet them yourself."

Henry turned to him then, with the same look on his face that Bae had borne all those centuries ago, when Hordor had accosted them on the road to Longbourne and pretended to guess at Rumple's name.

_"I know you, don't I?" Hordor feigned puzzlement, but Rumple saw the gleam in his eye and knew what was coming. This was a cat-and-mouse game, and Rumple knew full well who the cat was this evening. "What was your name? Hm? Spindleshanks? Threadwhistle? Hobblefoot?" He forced himself to hold his tongue. He was no stranger to mockery or humiliation and he could endure both, so long as he and Bae could stay together even a little longer. He knew how to deal with the nobility. One cringed and groveled and let them enjoy their power, spoke as little as possible, and did nothing to provoke them. And if Bae followed his lead, then—_

_"His name's Rumpelstiltskin!"_

_Even as he tried to shush his boy, his heart swelled. He might be shunned and hated by the entire village, if not the district, but Bae still wasn't ashamed of him, still didn't see any reason why he ought to be. And though Rumple knew that the day was coming when that would all change, right now, he couldn't still the outpouring of love that suffused him, even as he hoped that Hordor would overlook his son's defiance._

"I want you to meet them," Henry said firmly.

"I don't…"

Henry came around to Rumple's side of the counter and gave him a smile that was slightly teasing, but bore no hint of mockery. "They're probably just about as nervous about meeting you, you know."

"I'm hardly nervous," Rumple lied. "But if your friends are, well then, I'd say that's all the more reason to spare them the ordeal."

"It's not an ordeal," Henry maintained. "It's your shop. You're my grandfather. My friends are here because you okayed it and I think you should—"

The bell over the door jangled then and Henry broke off from what he was saying, slid his hand into Rumple's and stood beside him, as a small knot of children stepped inside with varying degrees of bravado and trepidation. Rumple pressed his lips together, gave Henry's hand a squeeze and nodded.

Then he stood there, smiling in what he _hoped_ was a friendly fashion as Henry made the introductions. So, this was the Zimmer boy, stooping at the back and trying to avoid holding eye contact for long. Rumple had seen him on the street from time to time, but never spoken with him. The plain girl with the mischievous glint her eyes, walking forthrightly toward the counter, one hand extended boldly toward him, that would be Amy—Amethyst, if he recalled correctly. The young man with the equally open face, only slightly more reticent must be Peregrine, who preferred to be addressed as Perry.

He'd been, it must be owned, more than a little curious about the girl of whom Henry had spoken most, all the while insisting that she was 'just a friend'. Physically, she appeared to be strong and sturdy for her age; like many young girls in the villages where he'd lived, no stranger to hard work and much of it physical. Unlike the boisterous Amy, her smile was demure. "And who's this?" he asked softly, his eye falling on the small girl who looked to be a year or so younger than Roland, who clung tightly to Cicely's hand. "Are you in the play, as well?"

The child giggled. "No!" she exclaimed. Then, she attempted to dart behind her Cecily's skirt, not quite managing to pull her hand free in the process.

Cecily sighed. "This is my younger sister, Aggie, sir."

"Tagalong!" a muffled voice protested from behind the skirt.

Cecily nodded. "Well, it's Agatha really, sir, but ever since she could walk, she's always wanted to go where we older kids—that is, me and my brothers and sisters—were. Tagging along, you know."

"Aggie-Taggie-Tagalong! Aggie-Taggie-Tagalong!" came the chant from behind the skirt amid more giggles, and Cecily's cheeks slowly flushed dark pink. "Yes," she mumbled. "We call her that sometimes. It's really Agatha, though. And well, when she found out that was going out today, she wanted to come and Mama said I should bring her, so…" She winced. "I'll keep an eye on her, really I will. She won't get into any trouble, I promise!"

Rumple nodded and smiled in what he hoped was a friendly fashion. "I don't doubt you," he assured her. "Well. Don't let me keep you from the task at hand. Henry will show you where you can rehearse." He frowned. "I'm afraid that the ceiling supports may be a bit rough; I can't vouch for their being free from splinters."

"We'll be careful, sir," Cecily said. She ducked her head slightly. "Our hut in Nottingham was much the same and we all learned young not to get stuck."

She ended her sentence with a slight curtsey, one that any well-brought-up child might have given to a respectable adult back in the land of their birth. In response, he inclined his head toward her with an approving smile "I don't doubt it. Well then. Off you go, the lot of you. I mean to order supper for six o'clock or thereabouts," he added. "So if you'll think on what you want from Granny's diner, I'll add your requests to mine when the time comes."

The girl that Henry had introduced as 'Marie' blinked. "For all of us, sir?" she asked. "I-if I'd known, I could have asked my papa for money. C-can I bring it tomorrow?"

Rumple shook his head. "This time," he assured her, "it's my treat." He hesitated. "If you should choose to make a habit of these get-togethers, I suppose we can assess the arrangement at a later date, hmm?"

The response was an excited babble of thanks, as they headed for the cellar steps.

"Your grandpa's nice," Rumple heard Amy say, as the door started to swing shut.

Before it finished its arc, he heard Henry respond, "Yeah, he is."

* * *

"It could work," Ursula said abruptly, startling Lily out of her book.

The irritation in the younger woman's eyes subsided almost at once. "The potion? You'll do it?" When she'd outlined her idea earlier, Ursula had been noncommittal, claiming that the idea was too half-baked to be worth consideration. When Cruella had challenged her to come up with something better, Ursula had grumbled something about not having an alternative not automatically making Lily's idea a good one. Now, the Sea Witch seemed more conciliatory.

"It could," Ursula repeated. "How do you propose getting it to him?"

Lily gave her a small smile. "Well, going by what we overheard, he's told the others to expect us. Well. Me, anyway. I don't think he knows about you and Cruella."

Ursula nodded. "With you so far. Go on."

"Okay," Lily took a deep breath. "So. They're all sitting there waiting for me to show up. Suppose I seek him out? Knock on his door, tell him I followed his instructions, but that you weren't so keen on coming with me, so I'm alone." She shrugged. "It's not even a lie. You _didn't_ leap at the chance to find Storybrooke, and I _will_ be alone when I show up on his doorstep. At that point, I can probably find some way to slip him the potion. Does he absolutely have to drink it, or could it be some sort of contact thing? Like, I mean, could I shake his hand if I'm wearing a glove to do it and the potion's smeared on it?"

Ursula's eyebrows shot up, but she shook her head almost at once. "It's got to be ingested," she said. "You can slip it into his coffee, or stir it into his porridge, but it's got to be taken orally."

"What if I baked it into a cake?"

"Well," Ursula said slowly, "heating it won't destroy it, but how could you be sure that he'll eat it?"

"I was thinking," Lily said, "If I made a layer cake, I could put the potion into one of the layers. Then when I suggest we sit down and talk about where things go from here… maybe over some refreshments, so long as I know which layer _not_ to eat, I can even take the first bite. Sort of like the Grimm version of _Snow White_ with all the poison in the red side of the apple."

"You know it didn't happen exactly that way in real life," Ursula warned.

"But it could have. Could have worked, I mean."

"Maybe," Ursula said. "So far, I'm with you. But have you given any thought to what we do with the old man, once we've learned all we can from him? I suppose we could kill him…"

"No," Lily shook her head. "I don't really have a beef with him. He's the guy who told me who I was and what was done to me. Even if he seems to be working with Snow White and company now, I don't really hate him enough to kill him. I just want him… out of the way."

"Well, there's the cage in the cellar," Ursula said. "But there doesn't seem to be any kind of magical lock on it. We can keep his hands tied, so he won't be able to cast a spell to escape, but if he should somehow work himself loose, he'll not only be able to break free; he'll lead the heroes right to us."

A throat cleared behind them and they turned to see Cruella, looking uncharacteristically nervous, standing in the kitchen doorway. She was holding a pair of diamond drop earrings in her hand as she took a breath. "You know," she said, with no hint of her usual blasé attitude, "I think I might have just the thing…"


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

 

_The Enchanted Forest, over 30 years ago_

"Cruella?" Maleficent's voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the undercurrent of anger. "A word?"

Cruella felt her heart sink. The jig was finally up and she knew it. Everything had been going so well at first. She'd been gadding about her hometown, amusing herself by setting rats and cockroaches upon an establishment that had banned her for—in their words—harassing paying customers. That wasn't how Cruella viewed matters, of course. She'd simply been suggesting to various patrons that they buy her a drink. Or a meal. Or an absolutely darling fur stole. Well, that last had been after she—and her escort—had each downed several drinks. At any rate, once she'd been forcefully removed from the premises and ordered not to return, she'd decided that vengeance was just as delicious served piping hot as cold and directed the local vermin there forthwith.

As she'd been gleefully observing the crowd of customers fleeing the restaurant, she'd heard laughter behind her and found a striking blonde woman with a dragon-headed cane standing behind her.

"That's quite the talent you've got," the stranger had remarked.

Cruella blinked. "Really, dahling," she'd remarked quickly, "I've no idea what you're talking about. I just saw everyone leaving and wondered what all the fuss was about."

The woman had shaken her head. "There's not much magic to speak of in this realm, but I must say you've got more than your fair share. My name's Maleficent. And if you'd like the opportunity to put your power to better use than shutting down restaurants as suspected health hazards, I think we ought to talk." As the woman spoke, the ball in the handle of her cane changed from opaque to clear and in it, Cruella saw a land where dragons soared and unicorns raced. The scenes shifted rapidly, here a castle, there a jousting tourney, and everywhere wildlife. Wildlife with sleek hides and glorious pelts.

"Where is this?" she'd gasped and Maleficent had smiled.

"My realm. I rather think you'd enjoy it."

"We-well," Cruella hedged, "I do appreciate the finer things in life, dahling."

Maleficent's smile had widened. "If you work for me," she replied, "I can pretty much guarantee you'll get them…"

* * *

She'd spent three glorious months in the Enchanted Forest as Maleficent's honored guest. She'd never had a friend before, but she sensed a kindred spirit in the other woman—and not just because she possessed a non-human form as well. For three glorious months, the two had been terrorizing the nearby countryside. And once Ursula crossed over from Neverland, they'd become a trio.

And now, it was all about to end. With a sinking heart, she followed Maleficent into her anteroom.

The dragon-woman was stern. "I'm waiting for an explanation."

Cruella affected an air of innocence which she knew wasn't fooling anybody. "Pardon?"

"Cruella, I herded Hubert and that simpering whey-faced chit he calls a wife toward you for a reason! All you had to do was set those cobras on them and there would have been an end to that whole line! And even if someone somewhere does succeed in disenchanting Philip at some point, he'll return to his kingdom to find himself the orphaned heir of a land now overrun by trolls and ogres! One command, Cruella! That's all you needed to issue! So, again. I'm waiting."

"Really, dahling," Cruella said loftily, "they were hardly worth killing. Better to leave them with their lives; they're terrified now. Why, you could probably demand any tribute and they'll be happy to pay it. Gold… jewels… furs…"

The tongue of flame would have singed the white half of her hair if she hadn't dodged. "I didn't want their tribute! I wanted them _dead_!" Maleficent shrieked. "I was being generous with you, allowing you the privilege of carrying out that task. And you… what? Froze? Panicked?"

"I'm sorry!" Cruella cried. She buried her face in her mink stole. "I wanted to! Believe me, Maleficent; nothing would have pleased me more! Nothing!"

Maleficent closed the distance between them with two angry strides and, with hands that sported fingernails nearly as long as the talons she possessed in her dragon form, seized hold of Cruella's wrists, and wrenched her hands down. "Look at me," she commanded.

Shaking, Cruella obeyed.

"Now," Maleficent ordered, "explain yourself. What happened today? On second thought, that's not important. Can you keep it from happening again?"

Cruella sucked in her breath and shook her head.

Maleficent's eyebrows shot up. "What aren't you telling me, dear?" she asked, a puzzled frown coming to her face. "I know you're not… soft. This wasn't just panic. Was it?"

Cruella shook her head again. "No," she admitted.

"Then, what?"

Cruella closed her eyes and turned her face away. "Well," she began hesitantly, "I guess I should begin by saying that I wasn't born with the talent to control animals. You see," she continued, "there was this man…"

* * *

As Cruella finished her story, she finally had the courage to meet Maleficent's eyes once more. She knew what was coming. She was about to be turned out of doors in disgrace. She didn't know what would be the worse of the two outcomes: to have to fend for herself in this strange new realm, or to be sent back to the dreary world she'd left, knowing all the while that she could have had so much more, been so much more, were it not for that accursed Author and his squeamishness.

To her surprise, she found the dragon woman looking at her, not with pity, but with sympathy. "All that potential," she murmured. "All that power. And he stifled it with the stroke of a pen."

Cruella nodded, startled.

Maleficent regarded her silently for a long moment. Then she heaved a sigh. "Well. We can't leave you like that, can we? Let's see how we can rectify the situation."

"You mean," Cruella began, feeling a tremulous hope, "you can break this curse?"

Maleficent shook her head. "Doubtful," she said pleasantly. "I create curses; I don't break them. I'd need to know a lot more about the specifics of yours before I could even begin to try." Her eyes narrowed. "There is one way, of course, but you aren't my type. And from what I've observed of you thus far, I'm not sure anyone would be."

"Pardon?" Cruella asked, not sure whether she was being insulted. Then Maleficent explained about True Love's Kiss and she understood. Her world was divided into people who could benefit her and people who could not. She tolerated the former and ignored the latter. And while she occasionally felt affection for some in that first group, that sentiment lasted only as long as its object was of use to her. No, she wasn't entirely certain that there had ever been anyone she'd even _liked_ , much less loved. And since, as Maleficent explained, the kiss would only be effective if both parties to it truly loved one another, that option appeared to be barred to her.

"Then…?" Cruella prompted.

Maleficent smiled. "The thing about magic is that most spells—and other workings—are extremely precise and extremely specific."

"I don't know," Cruella ventured hesitantly. "Isaac wrote that I had the power to control all animals. He didn't have to list each species."

"Different sort of precision," Maleficent replied, unoffended. "Think of magic as a set of laws. Sacred, inviolate laws, which must be followed to the letter. But as to circumventing the _spirit_ of those laws," she smiled and beckoned to Cruella to follow her through a doorway that had suddenly appeared in the antechamber wall. Curious, Cruella obeyed and found herself in a long stone passageway that ended in a winding staircase spiraling upwards. "As to circumventing the spirit," Maleficent repeated as they reached the top and she pulled open a wooden door with an arched top, "you'll find that there's a surprising amount of leeway."

"Is there?" Cruella gasped. She'd seldom engaged in physical exertion and they must have climbed over five stories. Her darling patent leather t-straps with the four-inch heels had been all the rage back home, but she never would have brought them had she realized how much walking she'd need to do in this land. All that magic at Maleficent's disposal, and she'd never thought to put a lift in her castle.

She looked around and blinked in surprise. The turret chamber was perfectly round and lined with shelves containing books, scrolls, and rows upon rows of jars and bottles that glittered with colorful powders and liquids. There were no windows, but tallow candles burned at intervals in wall sconces and their smoke mingled with the musky fragrance emanating from a copper brazier situated near the far wall and cast a diffuse haze over their surroundings.

If Maleficent noted how out of breath her companion was, she didn't comment on it. "Oh, yes," she smiled. "Now, mind you, all magic comes with a price, and I can't be dispensing it willy-nilly. Now that I know what the problem is, well, we'll find ways to work around it. We already know a few ways you can use your power that won't have you running up against that restriction; I'm really rather impressed by how long you've been able to keep your weakness hidden. But if you can't harm anyone, that also impedes your ability to defend yourself against any living creature trying to harm _you_. So, let's see if I can't give you a few things to help you on that score." As she was talking, she moved from shelf to shelf, taking a bottle of purple liquid from one, a jar of green powder from another, a silken pouch with a strange angular script embroidered on it in silver thread from a third, and assembling everything on a round wooden table in the center of the room—a table that already held an assortment of tubes, beakers, and paraphernalia, the purpose of which Cruella couldn't begin to guess. "After all, we can't have you at the mercy of any fool with a penknife," she continued.

"I should say not," Cruella agreed with no small relief.

"Many years ago," Maleficent continued, "I created a sleeping curse. Now, sleep is generally a useful thing. It helps a body to relax. It refreshes the spirit. It's actually rather peaceful. Or it would be," Maleficent's smile became a smirk, "if this wasn't a _curse_. I've made some embellishments that keep its victims in that state indefinitely. Not pleasant for them. Devastating for those who care about them and find them in such a state. But underneath the bells and whistles, it's still sleep." She was beaming now. "Sleep is not harmful. And, even if it were," she went on, "if your victim takes the dose voluntarily, well, I don't see how that's going to run up against any check on _your_ power."

"But why would they do that?" Cruella asked with a frown.

"Well, keep in mind that 'voluntary' has a few interpretations. For example, while marriages in most of the kingdoms in this realm are _voluntary_ affairs, where either party can elect not to follow through from the betrothal to the ceremony, let us say that economic pressures can be brought to bear. So, in the case of the scion of a poor family beset by debts being affianced to the heir to a small fortune, well even if our pauper can _technically_ back out of the agreement, the knowledge that they and their family will likely lose their lands and be begging in the streets or working in debt slavery for their creditors, depending on the law of the kingdom where they reside… No, the pauper isn't being coerced. They can legally refuse the match. They can legally end the betrothal. But considering the consequences of such an action… Well! Let's just say that the marriage invariably goes through." Maleficent smiled cruelly. "If you can contrive a situation where, to your victim, being placed under a sleeping curse is preferable to the alternative, it'll still count as voluntary."

"I see," Cruella breathed. "But still, the odds of my being able to concoct such a scenario are a bit slim, wouldn't you say? I mean, if someone's coming after me with a knife, I'm not sure that thrusting a vial of that draught at them and suggesting they have a little nip is going to work."

"It's just one example," Maleficent nodded. "I have other magic at my disposal that may serve. And I'm experimenting with implanting the sleeping curse into various foodstuffs. If I can get that to work, well, it'll take some testing to be certain, but it might happen that so long as your victim ingests the food voluntarily, the curse will take effect whether they knew about the special ingredient or not."

"I see," Cruella repeated. "It would seem," she continued slowly, "that I've been so blinkered by my weakness, it never occurred to me to consider my strengths."

"Don't feel too bad about it," Maleficent said approvingly. "That sort of malaise affects most of us from time to time. Now, I don't think you need to be carrying vials of this stuff about with you. They have a way of breaking in transit. And really, it only takes a drop or so. No," she said, her expression pensive, "I believe you'd best keep it in something rather mundane, but something that you can keep with you at all times that won't arouse comment." She held her hand flat before her facing upwards. There was a small flash of light and two earrings materialized in her palm. "These ought to be just the thing…"

* * *

_Storybrooke, present day_

Cruella had never shared her secret with another soul, not even Ursula. She had no intention of doing so now. But the earrings Mal had given her all those years ago were quite another matter. And an acceptable price to pay if their schemes were to succeed.

Lily looked blankly at the proffered jewelry. "Am I supposed to pawn those?" she asked. "I… guess it would give me an excuse to meet the, um, Dark One—"

"I wouldn't risk that," Ursula said sharply. "If there's anyone here capable of figuring out that you're not from these parts, it'd be him. He'll never tell you he's caught on, but he won't rest until he knows who you really are and what you want and how to either stop you from getting it or make sure you need his help to succeed. And that help always comes with a price."

"You're really scared of him, aren't you?" Lily asked with a mocking smile.

Ursula didn't rise to the bait. "Let's just say that my past encounters with him have taught me not to underestimate him," she said. Then she looked at Cruella.

"All right 'dahling'. Why _are_ you flaunting those baubles?"

Cruella shrugged. "They were a gift from the child's mother. I thought she might like to have them."

Lily started to reach for them, but Ursula slapped her hand away. "The Dark One's not the only one who only gives things away if there's something in it for him. Why are you being so uncharacteristically generous, all of a sudden?"

"Because," Cruella said, seemingly unoffended, "I want my happy ending just as much as you do. And if I need to make a small sacrifice to achieve it, it's well worth the price." Her lips parted in a smile. "Your mother put something special in these, Lily," she said. "A little brew she concocted and served to both a queen and, years later, that queen's daughter."

Ursula's eyes grew wide. "Hang on. You don't mean…"

Cruella laughed. "Once the Apprentice eats your truth-serum cake, I'm sure he'd appreciate a dram or so of sleeping curse to wash it down… Just wait until you've learned all you can from him before you offer it." She shrugged. "It's not as messy as murder, and it's not as inconvenient locking him up in the storm cellar."

Lily reached for the earrings again and this time, Ursula didn't stop her. "Wait," Lily said, frowning a bit as her hands closed about them. "When the others find him down for the count, they'll want to investigate who did this to him, same as if they'd found his corpse. How does this put us in a better position?"

Cruella leaned forward, her expression almost too innocent. "Back at that hotel, you mentioned that when you met him all those years ago, he told you that he felt guilty over his role in shaping your destiny. Well, it's been a few years since then and—not that I've experienced it firsthand, mind you, but I'm told that—guilt can become quite the burden, weighing heavier and heavier as time passes. And now, from what we overheard, they believe you're on your way. So, what if he feels _so_ guilty that he hasn't the heart to face you again and he finds a way in which he won't have to?"

"You mean, make it look like he dosed himself with the sleeping curse?" Lily said.

Cruella shrugged. "It's got to be ingested voluntarily in any case, dahling. And once he's, as you phrased it… 'down for the count'… I'm sure you could find pen and paper or some convenient laptop or something, the better to compose some missive worthy of appearing in _True Confessions_?

Lily slid the earrings into her pocket. "Back before I dropped out of school," she murmured wryly, "I might've sucked at a lot of things. English composition wasn't one of them." A small smile curved her lips. "And, since the previous owner of this place doesn't seem to have left any cookbooks behind," she added, pulling out her smartphone, "I guess I'd better see if I can find a cake recipe online."

* * *

Rumple went about his work, finding himself looking forward to the performance that was to come later. He'd noted that when he'd made his offer of dinner, not one of Henry's friends had intimated that they expected to finish much before then. Perhaps, he shouldn't have asked Belle to come at three, then. She hadn't protested, but it would mean closing the library early. He frowned. Did the library generally close earlier on the weekends? He couldn't recall. The building had been barred and shuttered during the first curse. And afterwards, he'd no sooner awarded Belle the key to the library when Killian Jones had arrived in town bent on vengeance. In short order, Belle had lost her memories and acquired new, false ones. Then the town had been on the verge of annihilation and, no sooner was that threat averted than they were off to Neverland to rescue Henry.

And then, he'd died.

When the second curse brought everyone back to Storybrooke, Belle had divided her time between running the library, running his shop, and running about town trying to help the others find ways to defeat Zelena.

Now that he thought about it, it didn't seem as though the library had any regular hours of operation. No wonder she didn't think twice about closing up to come to the shop at his request. He took out his phone to tell her that there was no need for her to arrive as early as he'd asked. Then he pocketed it again. Then he pulled it out once more and flipped it open to send a text:

_The rehearsal will probably go on longer than I'd anticipated. You don't need to come as early, unless you wish to._

Almost at once, a reply came back:

 _But I DO wish to_.

A second text followed a moment later, this one only two characters long: a colon, followed by a capital "D".

Smiling, Rumple texted back a 'big grin' of his own. Then he pocketed the phone and went back to his polishing.

"I know how to do that," a small voice piped up from behind him, and he whirled, startled, to find himself facing a small girl in a purple smock-like dress.

His eyebrows shot up, even as he greeted her once more. "Hello again, Agatha." He frowned. "Or _do_ you prefer 'Aggie-Taggie-Tagalong'?"

The child didn't giggle this time, but she did smile. "Aggie," she corrected, shaking her head. "Just Aggie."

"Ah," Rumple nodded sagely. "And what can I do for you… Just Aggie?"

Solemnly, the child held up her index finger, its pad facing toward him. "I got stuck," she whispered.

"Stuck?" Rumple repeated. "A splinter, you mean?"

Aggie nodded.

"Well. Let's have a look then."

Unafraid, the child advanced in his direction. Rumple smiled. "That's not so bad," he murmured.

"Hurts," Aggie countered, bringing the grimy digit toward her mouth. Rumple stuck out his hand to arrest the movement.

"I daresay it does," he agreed with her. "But that's not the way to get it out." From a drawer behind the counter, he removed a small pair of tweezers. "If you'll follow me," he invited her, "I'll just set about disinfecting this and then, I should be able to get that out for you." He raised an eyebrow. "I must say, you're being very stoic about this."

"Sto-ic?" Aggie repeated, cocking her head in puzzlement.

Still smiling gently, Rumple said, "I mean you aren't crying or carrying on."

Aggie shrugged. "It doesn't hurt a lot," she replied. "And Cis told me be careful."

"And you weren't?"

"I was!" Aggie retorted staunchly. A moment later she cast her eyes downward. "Till I forgot."

"Ah. So your sister sent you up here."

Aggie shook her head. "She didn't see. Too busy." This last was delivered in a matter-of-fact tone, as though the child was used to being overlooked and ignored. Or perhaps, Rumple allowed, he was reading too much of his own personal experiences into hers. Still, he spoke softly as he gestured toward the back office with the adjacent bathroom that contained a first aid kit in its medicine chest.

"After you," he started to say.

That was when a horrified voice shrieked from the cellar steps, " _AGGIE!"_

* * *

"I won't be of any use to you if I die of pneumonia," Killian gasped, once he'd finished coughing the water out of his lungs. His nose and throat were burning, and although exercise was known to warm a body, treading water below a pier in a Maine harbor in January wasn't having that effect.

"Oh, stop sniveling," Ursula snapped, as she looked down upon him from the aforementioned pier. "This can't be the first time you were knocked overboard." With a long-suffering look, she extended a tentacle to the water, looped it about Killian's waist, and hoisted him aloft. For a moment, she dangled him before her at eye-level, seemingly debating what to do, before dumping him unceremoniously to the pier.

"Sorry," she said unapologetically, when he hit with a soft thump. "I didn't realize the wood was rotting in that spot. Now that I do," she smirked, "I'll keep it in mind in future. In case I want to drop you from a greater height."

His teeth were starting to chatter and he was shivering uncontrollably as he looked up with a baleful eye.

Ursula sighed. "Well, if it's the only way to hold your attention," she muttered. With a wave of her hand, the water slid away from his skin, hair, and clothing, leaving each bone-dry, albeit covered with a fine sand-like layer of gleaming white salt. "Are you listening to me?" she asked lightly.

Killian sucked in his breath, even as he massaged his forearms, trying to coax more warmth back into them. "I am," he nearly snarled.

"Good. There's an item I need to acquire. I've no doubt that the Dark One keeps a supply of it."

Killian laughed out loud. "And you expect me to break into his shop for it? Seeing as, if I refuse, you'll likely kill me and if I agree, _he'll_ likely kill me, you might as well just get it over with." He fixed her with a stare nearly as icy as the water he'd just been drawn out of. "And if you think threatening to tell Emma Swan of your past history with me is going to work now that I know what you want, suffice to say that it's more than a little inaccurate to claim that I'd rather die than have her find out."

"I don't expect you to break into his shop," Ursula retorted. "If he wants the town to believe he's lost his magic, then there's no way he'd keep the evidence of it on those premises; not when he has a wife and that boy assistant of his poking about. To say nothing of risking a customer seeing something they shouldn't." Some surprise must have shown on Killian's face, for the sea witch smirked. "As you can tell, I've been watching. No, he'll probably have it stashed away someplace more private. Perhaps, a vault like Regina likely still has. Perhaps a secret room in his home. I need you to put your pirate skills to use and find out where he'd buried that treasure."

"And if I do?" Killian demanded.

" _When_ you do," Ursula smiled, "you relay that information to me. I'll handle the rest."

"And the item?" Killian asked resignedly.

"You know," Ursula said, "I'm not sure I trust you to tell one elixir from another. You discover where he's hiding his magical accoutrements and, once you do, you can lead me to it."

"And then, we're done?"

Ursula shrugged. "Perhaps. I might need something more from you down the road, but I can't think of anything offhand at the moment." She smiled. "Why Captain! Did you know that when you get really angry, there's a vein in your temple that actually throbs purple? You might want to get it checked out. I'd hate for you to succumb to apoplexy before you've finished working off your debt to me."

The pirate started to rise to his feet, but collapsed almost at once.

"Hmm… might want to rub your ankles, too," Ursula mused. "Gets the blood moving again. After I've gone. I rather like seeing you on your knees." With a nasty chuckle, she dove off the pier, her legs lengthening and splitting into numerous tentacles as she broke the water's surface.

She didn't know whether the pirate would be successful, and she truly didn't care. But she'd be replaying this most recent conversation on her swim to Neverland to cheer herself up, and she knew full well that Hook wasn't going to be enjoying himself much in her absence. And if Rumpelstiltskin discovered him and still had the magic to end the pirate's miserable existence…

…Well, she certainly wouldn't shed any tears over that outcome.

Lily could play her little alphabet games to make road trips pass more quickly, Ursula mused. She had her own methods.

* * *

Cecily seemed to fly across the room, interposing herself protectively between Rumpelstiltskin and her baby sister. "You can't have her!" she gasped. "Take me instead!"

Rumple felt his heart sink, as he regarded the girl. Five feet and half an inch of bristling rage and terror, a mix he knew far too well. And he'd thought that things might be different this time. He raised his hands slowly, palms facing outward. "It's not what you're thinking," he said, although he knew it would do no good. His legend loomed large and stood centuries old. He realized how it had to look: Rumpelstiltskin, renowned thief of children, coaxing a five-year-old into the back of his shop.

"Why do you even want her?" Cecily quavered. "She's too little to be of much use to you. I'm strong, I can work, I'm good with numbers, and-and I'm sure I could learn magic if you needed me to. Aggie's only four! It'd take you forever to teach her anything. I can be useful right now! Just please don't take my little sister!"

Rumple took a breath and lowered his hands, trying to decide how to play things out. "You do propose an attractive deal," he said quietly, after a moment's pause.

Cecily closed her eyes and clasped her hands together. "Thank you," she breathed.

"Oh, now, I didn't say I was accepting it," he went on.

"B-but—"

Anxious to stave off a new round of pleading, he waved one hand, cutting her off. "I'm not accepting it because I have no designs on your sister. Nor on you, for that matter."

"But I thought—"

"I know what you thought," Rumple said, noting that the girl seemed somewhat calmer now. "Your sister suffered a minor injury. Since I couldn't very well leave her unattended on the shop floor while I went to fetch the proper supplies, I'd thought to bring her to the supplies instead."

"Supplies?" Cecily repeated blankly. Then she turned to her sister. "Aggie! You were hurt?"

"Just a stick," Aggie replied, holding up her finger.

"After I told you to be careful?" she demanded, and Rumple was certain that the sob in the girl's voice was mainly due to relief.

"Forgot."

With a low cry, Cecily swept her younger sister into her arms. Then she turned back to Rumple. "I-I'm sorry. I saw her with you and I thought… I shouldn't have…"

Rumple shook his head sadly. "Earlier, I was wondering whether those old stories might not have faded from memory. I take it they haven't?"

Cecily looked down at Aggie's curly head. "I didn't think I believed them," she said. "I-I didn't mean to—"

"Come now," Rumple said, and if his voice was sharper, there was yet no anger in it. "I daresay that your mother gave you all sorts of sensible advice, like not picking up hot dishes without potholders or keeping an eye on your younger siblings while swimming in the creek, correct?"

"W-well, yes, she did," Cecily confirmed, "but—"

"Nor to visit dangerously ill friends without the proper charms to ward off contagion?"

"We never could afford those," Cecily admitted. "So I couldn't visit them at all."

"But you trusted her wisdom and judgment."

"Of course I did," Cecily retorted. "She's my mother. Sir," she added belatedly.

"So when she told you that the Dark One would carry off bad little children, why would you doubt it?"

Cecily met his eyes then. "It was others in the village told those tales, sir," she said. "Mama's never liked us hearing them. And anyway, you're not the Dark One now, are you?"

Rumple blinked. "No, I'm not," he said with a small smile. "It's good of you to recollect it." He hesitated. "Meanwhile, there's still the matter of the splinter in your sister's finger. If you'll stay a moment, I can fetch the first aid kit and attend to it here."

"Cis?" Henry's voice called from the basement. A moment later, they heard his tread on the stairs and his head appeared in the open door. "You coming back?" He took in the scene in a moment. "Is everything okay?"

Rumple sighed and gestured toward Aggie. "The child made her way upstairs on her own and her sister only just noticed it. A minor matter."

"I won't be more than another five minutes," Cecily said. "Less than, even."

Henry nodded. "Okay. But we need to get back to it if we're going to get everything right."

"I know."

After Henry returned to the basement, Cecily heaved a sigh of relief. "Thanks. For not mentioning…"

Rumple shook his head. "Whether you were meant to credit the old stories or not, you've been hearing them all your life. You've only met me this afternoon. The weight of history is against me." He frowned. "Incidentally, did your mother ever tell you why she disbelieved the stories?"

Cecily nodded. "She said her grandmamma used to say that _her_ grandmamma knew him—I mean you—and that everything he ever—th-that _you_ ever did was for your son's sake a-and that you'd never want to set another father weeping over their lost son or daughter."

Rumple's jaw dropped and he staggered backwards, into a shelf of knickknacks that was bolted securely to the wall. Even so, he managed to knock several of them over.

"Are you all right?" Cecily asked with alarm.

Rumple nodded. "I am," he managed about the lump now forming in his throat. "Forgive me, dearie; I suppose I shouldn't have asked the question if I wasn't prepared to hear the answer."

"I'm tired of being sto-ic," a small voice piped up. "My finger's still stuck."

Rumple pressed his lips together in a tight smile and nodded. "Let's fix that then," he murmured and made his way to the bathroom. A moment later, he returned, kit in hand. "I'll need a moment to sterilize the tweezers," he murmured, as he opened the two clasps. He took out the bottle of rubbing alcohol and set it on the table beside the tweezers he'd brought forth previously. Those, he set in a shallow wooden bowl he meant to refinish before offering for sale. It wasn't until he'd uncapped the rubbing alcohol and begun to pour it over the tweezers that he succumbed to his curiosity and asked, "I don't suppose your great-grandmother ever disclosed the name of that ancestress?"

Cecily's forehead creased in concentration. "Mama called her Morraine," she said finally.

Rumple just barely tipped the bottle back upwards before the rubbing alcohol he was pouring overflowed the bowl.

* * *

Killian Jones did not enjoy feeling trapped in the least. He'd spent too long as a slave not to rage and chafe as he felt his options dwindle away. He didn't want Emma to discover his past. Even if she understood it, even if she accepted it, his history was a painful subject and not one he was in any hurry to revisit.

He didn't want pity or sympathy for the indentured debt-slave he'd been once his father had abandoned him. He didn't want to spill out the litany of pain, treachery, and betrayal that had cost him his brother and twisted an idealistic youth bent on glory and adventure into a hard and ruthless man who had inflicted pain instead of bearing it and nearly become consumed by a quest for revenge.

He still wasn't proud of the way he'd let that past rise up again after he and Emma had gone back to the past and returned bearing the queen of Arendelle. Oh, he'd tried convincing himself that he was only trying to help Elsa find her lost sister, and if Rumpelstiltskin wouldn't help willingly, then coercion was called for. For Elsa's sake, of course. Deep down, though, he'd known exactly the sort of bad form he was resorting to. Rumple might have tried to sink him in that watery abyss, but his own oar-strokes had carried him to the edge.

And now, it was happening all over again. Once again, a truce was in place—a truce he'd actually asked for this time. Once again, Rumpelstiltskin was demonstrating no inclination to break it. Once again, Killian was feeling compelled by circumstance to go back on his word. And this time, it truly was compulsion and not mere rationalization.

There had to be some way out. There had to be some manner by which he could keep his honor intact in the present and not disclose his dishonorable actions of the past. He needed to think this over carefully and soberly—which precluded reaching for the flask in his hip pocket. There had to be a way out of this trap.

He shook his head. Ironically, the person most likely to be able to uncover a loophole in the entire sordid affair was one of the people he least wanted to discuss the matter with. But perhaps…

Killian's eyebrows lifted and a smile flashed briefly across his face.

Perhaps there was someone else he might be able to talk to.

And if there was truly no way out for him but to give Ursula the information she was demanding?

Well, in the place he was heading, there might be someone else willing to risk his skin—and Rumpelstiltskin's wrath—to acquire it on Killian's behalf.


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The lines quoted in the performance of The Matchmaker appear in Act 2 and begin on Page 88 of the Kindle edition.

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

 

When Belle pushed open the shop door at five minutes to three, her eyebrows nearly climbed to her hairline, as a startled smile sprang to her face. Four yellow folding signs warned of a wet floor, though there was no evidence that a mop had passed over that which belonged to the shop recently. Instead, pastel chalk drawings adorned the worn wooden boards, and if they were crudely-made, there was no mistaking the raw passion with which they had been formed. Particularly since the young artist was currently attacking another patch of the aforementioned floor with fervor—and a thick periwinkle piece of chalk.

"Uh… Hello," Belle greeted the child.

The girl looked up for a moment. "H'lo," she echoed. Then she went back to her work.

"Now, Aggie," Rumple said from behind the counter, "surely you've better manners than that?"

At once, the girl laid down the chalk, clambered to her feet, and bent her knees slightly in what could only with great charity be called a curtsey. "Pleased-to-meet-you-I'm-Aggie," she rattled off in one breath.

"Belle," Belle returned, still smiling and trying hard not to laugh.

"Hi." She turned her head toward Rumple. "Okay?" she demanded.

Rumple cast an apologetic look in Belle's direction before nodding to Aggie. "You may continue."

Aggie breathed a noisy sigh of relief and immediately dropped back to her knees, retrieved the chalk, and resumed her drawing.

Trying to maintain a straight face, Belle made her way to the counter, taking care to detour about the yellow signage. "Rumple?" she questioned, when she could trust herself not to giggle.

Rumple shrugged. "It's only chalk, Belle. It will wash out."

"I can see that," Belle said. "But… who? How? Why?"

Rumple smiled. "She told you her name. I had a box of colored chalk in the back. And this keeps her occupied so that her sister and the others can practice undisturbed." He shrugged again. "Really, she hasn't been nearly as much trouble as I'd anticipated when I suggested the arrangement."

"It does make the shop a bit brighter than usual," Belle noted. "But… won't she be upset when she comes back to find it all gone? Or do you mean to keep it?"

Rumple shook his head. "A deal was struck," he said seriously. "I permit her to use this floor as her canvas until the others come upstairs. In return, she removes all evidence of her handiwork after the performance. If she fails to uphold the terms of our agreement, I'll not extend the privilege should her sister bring her back in future."

"That seems fair," Belle nodded, straight-faced. "So, this is going to be a… thing?"

"The children need a place to rehearse, Belle," Rumple said, almost too innocently. "And the little one seems well-behaved thus far." He frowned a bit worriedly. "I will admit, though, that between Henry's time off and the need to keep watch over Aggie, I've not made nearly as much progress in the polishing as I'd expected."

"I'll help," Belle said at once, moving behind the counter.

On her way into the back room to hang up her coat, she impulsively flung her arms about Rumple. Because there _was_ a child in the room, though, she contented herself with kissing his cheek instead of his lips.

She was almost positive she only imagined hearing a giggle from the other side of the counter, as she passed through the curtained doorway.

* * *

Will Scarlet was probably the last person that Killian had hoped to run into when he approached the camp in the woods. He had a grudging appreciation for anyone choosing to reside in a tent in the middle of winter; while these temperatures weren't precisely unheard of in Sherwood, they certainly hadn't been the norm.

He knew that Regina had invited them to spend the colder months in town; Granny Lucas would have been pleased to have the business, but too many of Robin's men had lived too long in the wilderness to be truly comfortable in town for long and, as leader of the band, Robin had felt it his duty to remain with them.

At least, Killian observed, they'd taken advantage of the local camping outfitters shop; the tents he saw now were really more like the pavilions he'd seen when making landfall during a county fair or jousting tournament. And if they were anything like those tents, then they almost certainly boasted some sort of heating stove inside—probably one a good deal safer than had been back in the Enchanted Forest.

"C'n I help you, mate?" Will asked, a cocky smile on his face and his right hand poised to grasp the hilt of the sword he wore on his left hip.

Killian took a breath. Well, if the thief wasn't about to bring up that embarrassing encounter, then neither was he. "I'm here to see Robin Hood," he said tersely.

"He ain't here," Will said, moving to block his way.

"No? Then where is he?"

Will smirked. "He must've forgotten to file 'is itinerary wiv me. Last I saw, 'e was 'eadin' inter town."

Killian sighed. "Thanks, mate," he muttered. "It would appear I've come this way for nothing."

"'Old on, now," Will said suddenly. "Maybe I can be of some service."

It was on the tip of Killian's tongue to refuse. Then he remembered exactly what line of work Will Scarlet was in. And that while he'd come to speak with a man who lived by a strict code of honor, hoping for advice on what to do when redressing past wrongs meant committing fresh ones, if he _was_ to surrender to Ursula's extortion, maybe he wouldn't need to risk his own neck to do it. "Yes," he said slowly. "Perhaps you can…"

* * *

The floor was washed up with very little fuss. In fact, Aggie seemed to take as much pleasure in pushing the mop about (once Belle had wrung it out for her) as she had in creating her temporary masterpiece. After that, Rumple sent her downstairs to see whether the others were ready to either perform or order supper, so that she wouldn't see Belle redoing the chore.

"She actually did a pretty good job," Belle remarked, once the door to the basement swung shut. "A few soap streaks, but I think she might have made better work of it than I did when I first came with you."

"You didn't grow up performing household chores," Rumple pointed out. "Peasant children are frequently taught such skills young. Often as soon as they can be trusted to handle the tools without injuring themselves. I'll warrant that this isn't the first floor she's mopped."

Belle nodded, thinking about how her parents and tutors had often steered her away from the kitchen when, intrigued by the sights and smells, she'd clamored to try her hand at cooking or turning a spit or polishing the silver.

The 'thrill' had quickly worn off when she'd agreed to serve as Rumple's maid, but as a child it really had looked like fun. More. It had been something that she might have been able to do 'just like the grownups'. Aggie didn't seem to view such chores as drudgery either.

The door opened again and Aggie burst forward, not noticing when Belle almost guiltily stood the mop back in its bucket and began wheeling it toward the back room. "They're coming!" she crowed. "And you're gonna love it!"

A girl's laugh rang out behind her. "You weren't even watching!" Cecily exclaimed, emerging on her sister's heels. "How do you know?"

"Cuz you're in it," Aggie retorted loftily.

A moment later, the other youths clambered up the stairs. Henry looked around the shop floor critically. "I guess," he said, "if the audience is going to be behind the counter, then upstage would be toward the door and…"

"Yeah," Perry nodded. "So, Cis, you and Monica," he motioned to a tall dark-skinned girl standing behind Amy, "should stand… here and… _here_. And Marie, let's make this part off to the side the wings where you'll be waiting to come onstage, and," he stopped and looked at Rumple.

"Uh… sorry to keep you waiting longer. We just need a few minutes to get our bearings."

Rumple nodded with a bemused expression. "By all means. Proceed. Unless you'd rather we wait in the back until you're ready? I mean," he added, "when the time comes for the actual performance, you won't be tasked with assembling and getting into position while the audience sits expectantly, will you?"

Perry broke into a relieved smile. "I really hope not. Sir," he added. "I mean, I think you're just supposed to see the result and think it's all natural, not the work we put in to make it _look_ natural."

"I quite understand," Rumple nodded, thinking it sounded rather like the sleight of hand shows his father had been wont to put on in hopes of earning a few coppers. Those shows had, in fact, been about the only times that Rumple could recall his father actually _working_ at something. From what he recalled of that brief interlude, Malcolm hadn't been without talent along those lines, but he'd soon given up the show in favor of running shady card games—a trade that proved more lucrative if riskier.

He pulled his mind back to the present. These young people had been rehearsing for most of the afternoon and they certainly appeared to be dedicated to the endeavor. He was looking forward to seeing what they'd been up to. And it was only fair to give them every opportunity to make their last minute preparations without additional scrutiny.

"Very well," he said. He turned to Cecily.

"Did you wish your sister to remain out here?"

Cecily hesitated. "I hope you didn't mind her staying upstairs. I know she can be a handful sometimes."

"Ah," Rumple returned. "Well, you'll be happy to know that today was not one of those times."

"That's good," Cecily said. "And in that case, if you wouldn't mind, I mean it'll be easier to get set up if I don't have to watch her." Then, quickly, "but if it's a problem, of course I'll—"

"It's not," Rumple assured her. "Though, perhaps your sister ought to be consulted as well."

Cecily blinked. But she stooped down to Aggie's level and murmured softly to her. Aggie whispered something back and Cecily smiled. "You'll have to ask him that," she said. "Politely."

Aggie nodded and faced Rumple once more. "Can… _may_ I draw some more, please? On paper this time, so I can please take it home, please?"

Rumple's expression was solemn, but there was a gleam of amusement in his eye as he replied gravely, "I believe that can be arranged."

Aggie frowned. "Was that 'yes'?"

"It was."

The child nodded decisively. "Then I'll come with you. Thank you."

"Sir!" Cecily hissed in a stage whisper.

"Sir," Aggie added.

Belle actually clamped her hand over her mouth as she hurried into the back.

* * *

Will Scarlet listened intently while Killian explained his dilemma, saying nothing until he was certain that the pirate was finished. Then he laughed, not cruelly, but with a tinge of admiration. "Cor, mate," he whistled, "she's got you tied up in knots you ain't never learned in no royal navy, don't she?"

Killian glowered. "I don't know how to get out of this, _mate_ ," he snapped. "I destroyed her life and now she seems bent on destroying mine. If I help her get her vengeance on Rumpelstiltskin, while it's no longer my first choice, if it clears out her claim against me, then maybe it's for the best."

Will shook his head. "Naw, 't'isn't."

"Well, it might at least put her vendetta against me to rest."

"And start up a new one twixt you and the former Dark One. Who's still dangerous e'en wivout magic." He shrugged. "And anyway, it won't. You'll just 'ave 'em both firin' arrows at that target you're paintin' on your back."

Hook frowned. "Come on, mate. This whole… matter… isn't exactly happening by my choice. If there's a target on my back, I think we can blame the sea witch for—"

"Handin' you the paint pot an' brush an' tellin' you what design she fancies on that black jerkin ye're so fond of? Aye. But it's still your 'and 'oldin' that brush." He smiled then, in an almost kindly fashion. "C'mon mate. Maybe you've spent too long at sea to've been taught the first rule of 'oles, but it's obvious enough I'm kind of surprised you ain't figured it out, yet."

"First rule of… owls?" Killian repeated. His crew hailed from a variety of ports and he was no stranger to different accents and phrasings. Still, Will's speech required a fair amount of concentration to puzzle out in spots.

Scarlet chuckled at his confusion. "I'd like to think you were finally learning proper talk, but somehow I can't 'elp thinkin' you thought I was referrin' to birds just now. _Holes_ , mate," he repeated slowly, exaggerating the aspirant 'h'. Seeing that Killian still seemed puzzled, the thief leaned forward conspiratorially. "When yer in 'un," he grinned, "stop digging! Mate, you say she's threatening to wreck your life if you don't do as she says? Do as she says and you're doing that yourself! And now you come 'ere ter… what exzackly? 'Ope Robin 'as some words of advice for bein' a little less strict with a code of honor? Good luck wi' that, mate," he laughed. "Man's got an arrow wedged so far up 'is ar—" He broke off suddenly.

"Ah… 'Lo, there Roland."

The little boy ducked his head once and smiled shyly. "Have you seen Little John?" he asked.

Scarlet thought for a moment. "Bethink me, e might've mentioned seeing to some fletching. You know what verdigris smells like?"

Roland nodded at once.

"Good lad. If you 'ead toward the tents and follow yer nose, bethink me ye'll find 'im."

The boy thanked the thief and took off in the direction indicated. Once he was out of earshot, Will turned back to Killian. "Look, mate," he continued, and now, Killian had less trouble understanding his accent, "if I were you, I'd ask myself one question: Why does the sea witch want me help? Is it acos she needs me skills? Or is she jest lookin' to make me squirm? If it's the former," Will shrugged, "do or don't do as't pleases ye. A code's a _hin_ teresting thing and oftimes open to interpretation. You might find a way to convince yourself you're doing right, and who knows? Maybe it'll be so. Ah, but if it's the latter, mate, then save yourself some stress an' 'eartache and come clean now. Acos as soon as she 'as what she wants and no further need o' your services," his smile now held a touch of commiseration, "well, I wouldn't put it past 'er to carry out 'er threat to tell the others an' jest set back an' watch them fireworks. You'll get every hand in this town raised against you, when it's _her_ what's the real threat. But they're like to be too busy laying into you t'recollect that for a bit." He slapped Killian's shoulder gently. "Your choice, mate. I figure if everyone's at everyone helse's throat, they might not spot me plyin' me own trade. You bein' stubborn?" He smiled. "Very good for business." His smile died. "Just very bad for this town. I tell you straight, friend… I'm torn."

Killian pressed his lips together tersely and nodded once.

"Still want me to 'ave Robin get in touch wiv you when 'e comes back?"

Killian shook his head. "No, mate," he said slowly. "I think I've got all the advice I need."

Will nodded. "Suit yourself then. I s'pose I'd best get back t'guard duty; Tuck gets tetchy if there's none to cover 'im when 'e betakes himself to the mess tent."

Killian nodded and Will turned on his heel. "Scarlet?" Killian called after him. "Thanks, mate."

Will grinned cockily. "For what, mate? You already knew what you 'ad t'do when you arrived 'ere. Now get out there an' do it."

"I will."

"Ey, mate?" Will called, as Killian turned in the direction of town. "Good luck."

* * *

The performance was far from polished. Henry had reminded Rumple and Belle apologetically that they were less than three weeks into rehearsals and still reading most of their lines from the script. In essence, today's show was more of a read-through with some moving about.

Even with those limitations, Rumple had to allow that the young cast was not without talent. Lines were delivered with expression and, at least in the case of Cecily and Nicholas, with a certain natural ease that couldn't quite be obscured by the script pages that too often got in the way of the performers' faces.

Right now, Rumple watched as Henry/Cornelius and Nicholas/Barnaby did their best to hide from their employer—who was completely unaware that the two had escaped from work, taken a day off without his consent, and had arrived in New York bent on adventure—though why they'd thought they'd find it in a millinery shop was beyond him.

"Some women were here a minute ago," Henry said. "I saw them." (The women—Cecily and Amy—were standing by the map carousel in the back room of the 'millinery shop'.) Meanwhile, the two boys approached the imaginary door of the shop, pretended to glance out, and immediately returned. "That's Wolf-trap all right," Henry said, with panic that was a bit too obviously over the top. He sighed. "Well, we've got to hide here until he passes by."

Nicholas sidled up to the "door," took another look, and turned back to Henry with a worried frown. "He's sitting down on that bench," he replied. "It may be quite a while."

Henry gulped. "When those women come in," he said, "we'll have to make conversation until he's gone away. We'll pretend we're buying a hat. How much money have you got now?"

Nicholas reached into his pocket, while Rumple found himself torn between curiosity at seeing the antics that the two characters might get up to, and a certain yearning for the employer to enter the shop, discover his unreliable employees, and give them a piece of his mind. Somehow, he doubted that such would transpire.

"When's Cis going to talk again?" Aggie demanded, and Rumple held an admonishing finger to his lips. "Watch and find out," he murmured.

"Don't wanna," Aggie protested sulkily. "Nothing's happening."

"Yet," Rumple said with a smile. "Be patient."

"You mean sto-ic," Aggie grumbled, clearly having acquired a new favorite word. But she did sit quietly, if resignedly.

After a moment, Belle stole to one of the cases and lifted out a large stuffed rabbit. Aggie's eyes lit up when Belle offered it to her and she grasped it at once and hugged it to her torso.

Rumple smiled approval and directed his attention back to the performance.

"Even if our adventure came along now," Nicholas was saying, "I'd be too tired to enjoy it. Cornelius, why isn't this an adventure?"

"Don't be asking that," Henry retorted. "When you're in an adventure, you'll know it all right."

Rumple nodded encouragement and smiled more broadly. His grandson hadn't sounded as though he'd been reading _that_ line. Rather, it sounded as though it was coming from someone who'd been on enough adventures to know whereof he spoke.

Nicholas shook his head, seeming unconvinced. "Maybe I wouldn't," he replied. Then inspiration seemed to strike. "Cornelius, let's arrange a signal for you to give me when an adventure's really going on. For instance, Cornelius, you say . . . uh . . . uh . . . _pudding_ ; you say _pudding_ to me if it's an adventure we're in."

Henry rolled his eyes and deliberately turned his back on his friend. "I wonder where the lady who runs this store is." He turned back to Nicholas. "What's her name again?"

"I'm hungry!" Aggie interrupted.

"Aggie…" Belle murmured.

"NO!" Aggie said. "They're talking about pudding and I want some!"

Rumple cleared his throat. "How long has it been since the child—or any of you, for that matter—have eaten?" he called.

The youths blinked and looked at each other.

"What time is it?" Perry asked.

"I guess we haven't really had anything since before we came here," Amy said.

Rumple sighed. "Well. As impressed as I am by what I've seen thus far, perhaps it would be better to adjourn until after dinner. I'll confess to feeling a bit peckish myself."

"W-we didn't realize we'd need this long to rehearse," Cecily admitted.

Rumple shook his head, smiling. "It's easy enough to lose track of time when one is engaged in a project," he pointed out. "But it does appear to be rather close to the supper hour. So, if you'll each be so good as to advise me as to what you'd like to order, I'll make the arrangements."

"Pudding!" Aggie exclaimed.

"Aggie!" Cicely admonished.

"I'm afraid that's not on Mrs. Lucas's menu," Rumple said smoothly. "Nor is it much of a supper. Would you perchance be partial to grilled cheese?"

Aggie cocked her head toward him. "Partial?" she repeated.

"Do you like grilled cheese?" Rumple rephrased, not at all put out.

Aggie considered. "Mac-and-cheese, I like," she said hopefully.

Rumple consulted the takeout menu he'd already set upon the counter. "Well," he smiled. "That does appear to be an option." He looked up. "And the rest of you?"

One by one, orders were given and taken, until Rumple's eyes sought Belle's. "Belle?"

She hesitated. "I guess I'll have a burger and fries," she said.

Rumple wrote it down. "Will you pick up the order?" he asked, "or shall I?"

Belle winced. Rumple hadn't pushed her to go back to Granny's; not the way some of the others had. And it would be so easy to demur and let him go as he was offering. But somehow, she was embarrassed to request it in front of a group of middle-schoolers. Silly, really. They weren't likely to notice or care. They probably didn't even know why she was reluctant. Well. Henry did, but she doubted he'd told anyone. And anyway, who cared what they thought of her? She was being silly.

But not wanting to step foot in Granny's was another sort of silliness, wasn't it?

She took another breath, squared her shoulders, and met Rumple's eyes with a tight smile. "I'll go," she said, feeling a weight she hadn't even realized she was carrying slide off of her.

"I'll inform Mrs. Lucas to that effect," Rumple nodded, pulling out his phone, and there was no mistaking the approval in his eyes.

* * *

Much as Killian hated to admit it, Will Scarlet had been right. He'd gone to Robin's camp looking for advice, when he already knew what he needed to do. Even if he wished he didn't. Even if this was going to hurt. Even if he knew that Emma and the others probably would understand, there was still the possibility that they wouldn't—or would understand all too well.

Even if he had to admit that there was still a part of him that would be delighted to see Rumpelstiltskin suffer.

He didn't have to do this. He could string Ursula along, just as he suspected she was now stringing him. Play both sides, pretend to assist her, all the while doing nothing to help or hinder her plots. It would be easy.

 _I'm not a villain anymore_ , he told himself. _I may not yet be a hero, for all my insistence to the contrary, but I'm trying to be. And heroes don't do what's easy._

They did what was right.

But… right for whom?

He knew the answer.

He merely wished he didn't.

And that when the time came to prove himself, he'd be able to find the right words with which to do so.

* * *

"Here you go," Astrid said, handing over two large paper bags with a smile. At least, she tried to hand them over, but she released one before ascertaining that Belle had a good grip and it fell to the pavement. "Oh!" she gasped.

"It's all right," Belle reassured her. "I don't think there was any soup or sauce or anything…" Mrs. Lucas had probably included extra condiments, but those came in sealed foil packets; not the paper cups with plastic lids that the diner provided for its ketchup and mustard. _Those_ might have popped off.

"I'm sorry!" Astrid said, as she bent down to retrieve the bag. She looked it over carefully. "I hope nothing broke," she murmured. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean…"

"It's not your fault," Belle smiled. She sighed. "I probably should have gone in for it myself. I meant to. But…" But she'd been standing several paces from the front door, telling herself she was being silly, and trying to will herself to go inside. Or will herself to have the magic to teleport the food outside and into her hands. Either way would have worked well. And then, Astrid had appeared and Belle had seen a way to avoid the whole complicated situation.

"Next time," Astrid said with a reassuring smile.

"Maybe," Belle said. "If there is one."

"Well, I hope so," Astrid said. "Because Mrs. Lucas said that Rumpelstiltskin called her to add something to the order and he told her you'd be coming to pick it up, so she was a little surprised to see me instead."

Belle was sure that she was feeling the color drain from her cheeks. "Was she?" she murmured. She'd forgotten that Rumple had said he'd call ahead, so relieved had she been to foist this duty off on another.

Astrid nodded, smiling. "And anyway, when she gave me the bags, she also asked me to pass on a message to you."

"Oh?" Belle asked, steeling herself for what she was about to hear.

"Yes," Astrid nodded again. "She said for me to tell you not to be such a stranger."

* * *

Dinner had, in fact survived intact, and was consumed with gusto. And if Henry and Belle were the only people present to engage Rumple in steady conversation, at least the others seemed to have gotten past their earlier nervousness.

Cecily, it must be owned, seemed to be making special effort to smile in his direction and express her thanks, likely doing her best to atone for the previous misunderstanding. As far as Rumple was concerned, she had nothing to atone for; the mistake had been one he might have expected anyone to make under the circumstances.

Still, when he offered the use of the shop for rehearsals the following Saturday under the same terms, he couldn't quite conceal his astonishment at the enthusiasm with which his suggestion was expected.

"Can I come back, too?" Aggie demanded, tugging on her sister's skirt.

Cecily hesitated. "If it's okay with Mr. Gold. And if Mama lets." She turned inquiring eyes toward Rumple.

"If you're too busy to keep an eye on her, I'll try to work something else out," she said. "I mean, I wouldn't want to impose…"

Rumple smiled. "Business tends to be rather slow on weekends," he allowed. "Today's arrangement worked rather well for all concerned. So long as the child has no objections, I'm willing to have it continue."

Cecily bobbed an instinctive curtsey, then blushed to the roots of her hair when Marie giggled.

Rumple gave the other girl a disapproving look. "Politeness takes many forms," he admonished quietly. "Laughing at another's customs isn't one of them, so far as I'm aware."

Marie winced. "Sorry," she murmured to Cecily.

"That's okay," Cecily replied, but not before flashing Rumple a guarded smile.

"Well then," Rumple said, "I'll see you all next week."

"Maybe Paige and Tobey will be able to make it then," Nicholas said.

"Yeah, that'd be good," Perry agreed.

"Henry," Rumple said, "The floor will want sweeping. Would you prefer to do it now or first thing in the morning?"

Henry sighed. "Now," he replied, unfastening the coat he'd already half-buttoned. "I'll just let my mom know I'll be a little longer."

"I'd help," Cecily said, "but I've really got to get Aggie home in time for her bath." She made a face. "If we wait too long, the others will have used up all the hot water."

"That's okay," Henry said. "It's my job, anyway."

"We'll let you get to it," Amy smiled. "C'mon guys. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner we stop scuffing up the floor."

"I'll mop up after you," Belle offered. "So you'll be out a little sooner."

Henry grinned. "Thanks, Belle."

It didn't take long for the others to bundle up for the weather outside. As they were leaving, Cecily turned to her sister. "You had a good time?" she asked.

"Oh, yeah!" Aggie nodded emphatically. "I got to draw on the floor, and I got a bunny, and I got a picture to show Mama when we get home, and when I talk to Mr. Gold, he listens to me like I was _big_!"

* * *

Lily poured herself a cup of coffee and bit into a sweet bun. "How long until she gets back with the leg of toad or eye of newt?" she demanded.

Cruella scoffed. "She wouldn't need to go clear to Neverland for _that_ , dahling."

"Fine. How long?" Lily asked.

Cruella shrugged. "It's impossible to tell," she said. "Time stands still in Neverland. She might be back in an hour. She might be back in a month. Or more."

"You mean," Lily started in horror, "I might be stuck in this godforsaken farmhouse with you for a _month_?"

"I'm not liking it any better than you are, dahling," Cruella retorted, "but we need to lay low. We've come too far now to let impatience get the better of us. Now, how about you toddle off to the kitchen and fix us something for supper?"

Lily took a deliberate bite of her sweet bun. "I'm good," she said when she'd swallowed it. "But if you want supper, don't let me stop you."

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, dahling. I'm not about to do anything so menial. I'd burn the place down, like as not," she added.

"Well don't do that!" a new voice exclaimed in a crisp British accent. The two women turned as one in the direction of that voice. The newcomer was conservatively dressed, her blue eyes sparkling with mirth, and her masses of crinkly red hair struggling to escape the scarf holding it back in a tight ponytail. "I mean, I do intend to come back here one day."

"Who are you?" Lily demanded, half-rising from the table, one hand reaching into her jacket pocket and hovering indecisively between the screwdriver and the small can of mace, as she tried to determine what the better option would be.

"The owner of this abode," the woman replied affably. "But don't worry; I don't mind houseguests. I've been listening to you lot planning and plotting for the last little while, and I must say you've caught my interest."

"Yeah?" Lily snapped.

"Oh, yes. And you can leave those toys in your pocket alone, child; I'm not really here. This is just a projection. If you try to mace me, it'll simply pass through me."

"Let's try and find out," Lily said coldly, pulling out the canister, aiming it, and firing in one smooth motion. There was a hissing sound as the spray escaped and a white jet hit the wall behind the stranger.

"Yes," the woman beamed. "Let's. Actually…" She vanished for a moment, and then reappeared directly in front of Cruella, shielding the other woman from view. She smiled at Lily. "Did you want to try that again?"

Lily shrugged. "Looks like a win-win from where I'm standing."

"Hey!" Cruella snapped.

"Enough," the newcomer said, sounding bored. "A moment ago, you asked me who I was. My name is Zelena. And while I don't expect that to mean anything to either of you, newcomers that you are, I suspect that you both might know me better as the Wicked Witch of the West..."


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Ursula hadn't been back to Neverland in years. Not since her father and the pirate had conspired together to rob her of the thing that brought her the most joy. And now, to return, not only to the land that had brought her birth, but to her father's very palace… The Sea Witch steeled herself. She needed the powdered bone of a ghost whale's shoulder fin. The sea mammal was hard enough to find living. Dead, it might take an eternity. But Poseidon's treasure room held many riches and not all of them came from shipwreck booty. She knew that better than anyone; if she hadn't trusted the pirate enough to steal her father's squid ink, then... Well. Water under the surface now. She was no longer that same naïve girl. She knew better than to trust most humans under most circumstances. Fortunately, once she had the potion she'd brew with the bone powder, she would have at least one human whom she _could_ trust. At least, until the serum wore off.

She slipped into the palace as easily as she'd once slipped out of it and made her way to the treasure chamber. The two guards didn't have time to sound the alarm before her tentacles were about their throats. As they each slumped to the ground, she glanced at them long enough to be certain that they were still breathing. She didn't really want to kill anyone here; not even her father. Her attack had merely choked them to unconsciousness.

The lock on the massive chamber door was shaped like a ship's wheel. Perhaps, she realized for the first time, it was. Wet wood rotted when it was exposed to the air, but submerged wood kept free of worms and other aquatic scavengers could last a very long time, especially if the water was cold.

The ocean depths were cold in Neverland.

She studied the lock for a moment. Then she reached out with both hands and grasped the upper handle—the 'king's spoke' with one hand, and the one that pointed due east with the other. "Three days hoping," she muttered, moving the wheel three turns left, "five days mourning," she continued, moving it five turns right, "and an eternity of vengeance," she finished, giving the wheel a final hard spin and releasing the handles. The door slowly creaked open of its own accord and Ursula smiled. "After all these years, Father, you still haven't changed the combination." Three days, Poseidon had waited for his wife to return. On the fourth, her body had been brought before him. Out of respect for their queen, the mer-folk who had found her had removed the harpoon that had destroyed her, but they had been unable to do more than bandage the wound. Poseidon and his children had grieved the five days that custom demanded. And then, her father had summoned her to him and told her how he meant to exact payment from the surface world.

"I should have listened to him," she muttered.

She glanced at the guards. She had no idea how long they'd be out and, after a moment's hesitation, she dragged them into the chamber with her. There were a number of large treasure chests inside, and it was only the work of a moment to empty two—fine linens and laces weren't nearly as heavy as metal coins, nor iron weapons—bind the hands of the two unconscious mer-folk with some of the laces, and seal them within. They wouldn't suffocate; the chests weren't water-tight. But they wouldn't be able to escape in time to sound the alarm, either.

She made her way quickly through the chamber, trying to recall where she'd seen the bone powder last, and hoping that nobody had had occasion to use it up in the years since last she'd flapped fin here. Fortunately, Sebastien her father's seneschal had always been thorough and well-organized. She found it on a shelf with other magical ingredients. Not too far from the squid ink, in fact. Ursula thought for a moment. Then she grabbed the ink as well.

She turned to go and realized then that she wasn't alone. "Ursula," her father said gently. "Please…"

For a moment, she felt her resolve weaken. Then she shook her head. "The time for pleading is past, father. Don't try to stop me."

"I just want to talk."

She hesitated another moment. Then she squared her shoulders and rose higher in the water. "The time for that is past, too."

"I'm your father!"

She hadn't heard that level of pain in his voice since the day her mother had died. Again, she felt herself begin to give in. And how many times had she given in before? Only to be disappointed when Poseidon's true colors reasserted themselves. She sucked in another breath, and filling her lungs with water seemed to fill them with strength as well. "That's why you're still standing," she said coldly. "Don't worry about the guards; I just shut them away for safe-keeping," she added, gesturing toward the chests.

And then, she was moving past him, and he wasn't preventing her.

But as she made her way out of the palace and back toward the point where she could cross over to the (increasingly misnamed) Land Without Magic, she was forced to admit to herself that not all the salt water in her eyes came from the sea in which she swam.

* * *

"Look," Lily blustered, "we didn't know this was your place. We just needed a spot to hole up and word was, it was empty."

"And so it is," Zelena's image nodded smilingly. "At least, for now. I'm somewhat… indisposed."

"Indisposed?" Cruella repeated, a canny gleam coming to her eye. "Can you be a bit more specific, dahling?"

Zelena sighed. "Well, if you must know, I'm in confinement."

"Locked up, you mean?" Cruella demanded.

"Well, that too," Zelena smiled. "Go with one of the older meanings of the phrase."

"You mean…" Lily stared hard at the projection before her. The red-haired woman's clothing was loose enough that she couldn't confirm the woman's words based on looks alone. "You're pregnant?" she finished.

Zelena nodded. "And sadly, that means I can't get up to much mischief until the child's born. Which means not letting on that while _I_ might be locked up, my magic isn't."

"What is it you want?" Cruella asked.

Zelena giggled. "Really, dear," she addressed Lily, "is your companion always this tactful?"

Lily shrugged. "I think she asked a good question. If you're locked up _with_ magic, it sounds like you don't want our help to get free. And even if we _did_ try a jailbreak, it doesn't sound like you want to help us. So, why should we help you? And if that's not what you're after, then Cruella's right: what _do_ you want?"

Zelena's smile grew warmer and somehow, more sincere. "I must admit," she said, "I've been eavesdropping on your conversations since you moved in. Dormant spells," she clarified. "Activated in case of home invasion. So, yes, I know what you're here for. But you've got several obstacles standing in your way. First, Emma's powerful and getting more so every day as her education progresses. My magic can't defeat her."

"You're not helping your case, dahling," Cruella remarked.

"But if we should join forces, we'll help each other. You strike out at Emma by harming those closest to her. Her parents are already on your hit list. But you're overlooking others. Her pirate lover—"

"Ursula's taking care of that one," Lily quipped.

"By threatening to tell Emma of their shared past if he won't do her bidding? That's hardly likely to impact her very much. Especially if she and the pirate each uphold their end of that bargain. But even if the sea witch double crosses him… so what? She'll get angry, utter a few choice remarks and, like as not, they'll be kissing and canoodling before nightfall." Zelena smiled sickly. "No, I think it would be far better if more… unfortunate… things were to happen to him. Something more _permanent_ ," she continued. "But not just to him. There's that boy of hers. And her close friends. Like my dear sister Regina."

Cruella's eyes narrowed. "I must admit we've been wondering about that friendship. It hardly makes sense."

Zelena shrugged. "You want vengeance on the Charmings. I want vengeance on Regina. And if old Rumple were to suffer too, well… I'm told he no longer possesses magic, so that shouldn't be too hard to achieve."

"We haven't been sure how reliable that bit of gossip is," Cruella admitted.

"Well," Zelena said, "after what I did to him, I think the very fact that he hasn't slipped in here to kill me speaks volumes about the limits of his power."

Lily turned to Cruella with a frown. "Sounds like Hook may not be the ally Ursula thinks he is."

"Or," Cruella pointed out, "the Dark One—whether former or current—is playing a long game. He does that," she added brightly. "As you're doubtless aware. So," she added, giving Zelena a hard look, "are you asking us to remove obstacles from _your_ path? Or are _we_ the obstacles? Sounds to me like sending us to take on the Dark One on the assumption he's powerless could backfire spectacularly if you're wrong. Or work splendidly for you, if that's your plan."

"My, my," Zelena laughed, "are you always this suspicious?"

"Give us one good reason we shouldn't be," Lily snapped. "Because if you ask me? Approaching two members of a trio when the third is away is a recipe for sowing dissension in the ranks. I think you're playing us, lady, and I don't like being played."

Zelena shrugged. "Suit yourselves. But you need someone on the inside if your plans are going to succeed."

"Yeah, well, like I said before, it sounds like you're too far inside to be of any use to us. And from what you said before, you don't want out."

"Not now," Zelena agreed. "But eventually. And until that time comes, well, there's no reason I can't assist you from within. And as I'm currently demonstrating, my magic can function quite well outside my current confinement. I can probably give a bit of a boost to any plan you—or we—concoct. And trust me, my dear ones, I can be a formidable ally."

Lily frowned. "Maybe," she said slowly, "but I think this is something we need to discuss when Ursula gets back."

"Suit yourselves," Zelena said. "Oh and by the way? Try to be a bit more observant."

"Sorry?"

Zelena shrugged again. "Well, you found the cozy little room I had fixed up for Rumple easily enough. But did any of the three of you spare a glance for the items on the shelves just outside of it?" She smiled. "Let's call it a pledge of good faith. In case the pirate lets down Ursula as thoroughly as he did me."

And with a giggle, the witch's image faded away.

Lily and Cruella exchanged a quick glance. "Storm cellar?" Cruella asked.

Lily nodded, already grabbing her coat for the trip outdoors. "You know it."

* * *

Rumple did his best to hide his disappointment when Robin stepped into the shop the next morning, scant moments after he'd opened for the day. "You came alone," he greeted him.

Robin nodded with a sad smile. "Give him time," he said. "He'll come around."

"But you told him why I asked to see him?" Rumple probed, even as he took the stoppered vial out from behind the counter and set it down carefully on the smooth glass surface.

"I did," Robin confirmed. "If it helps, he did say that he doesn't, I quote, want anything bad to happen to you, but neither does he currently wish to face you."

Rumple nodded slowly at that. "I suppose I can understand his feelings. Well," he forced himself to smile, "your obtaining the potion was never contingent on his presence. I've written the proper dosage on the label at the back of the bottle," he added, motioning to the leader of the Merry Men to pick it up. "You're meant to taper off the usage. By the time the bottle is empty, one might hope the problem resolved."

Robin reached for it, his smile warmer this time. "Thank you."

Rumple nodded. "I…" He winced. "I don't want to force the issue, but I truly regret the part I played in your son's current issues. Would you please tell him that—when he's ready, of course—I would be willing to meet him at a place of his choosing, and with as many people present as he'd prefer, to tell him so to his face?"

Robin blinked. "I'm not sure such ceremony is warranted," he replied. "Roland is only a child, after all."

"Perhaps," Rumple agreed, "but I did wrong him. And, if I can manage to do so without worsening matters, I would like to make amends. If he'd be willing to meet me in a place where he feels safest, surrounded by people he trusts most, I'd… well, I'd say that's understandable. When he's ready, of course."

Robin tucked the vial into a belt pouch. "Of course. And… I shouldn't think it'll be too long. Roland's never been one for keeping grudges."

"He's afraid," Rumple translated. He sighed. "I'll not pretend I can't understand why. Though I had hoped…" his voice trailed off and he turned away quickly.

"For what it's worth," Robin said quietly, "I don't bear you any ill will."

Rumple turned back to him with a raised eyebrow. "Just for that incident? Or do you mean it as a blanket statement for events that occurred prior to your arrival in this land?"

Robin sighed ruefully. "You knew it was me, then. In your castle, right before Roland's birth. I always did wonder about that afterwards."

"I could tell you were using a magical disguise that time," Rumple admitted. "But I wasn't concerned with who you were under it until the day when I was ordered to obtain Regina's heart."

He shook his head. "At least, I finally understood why you came to steal instead of, at least, attempt to bargain first."

"I might not have known what the Dark One did to those who stole from him, though I'll admit I didn't think it could be anything good," Robin said. "However, your penalties for those who struck deals and failed to uphold their end… I took a chance. It didn't go as planned."

Rumple smiled at that, but his eyes were still worried. "I don't believe you answered my question."

Robin sighed. "As I said, I knew that there would be consequences if I were caught. I was and there were. And, while I can't say I enjoyed them, well, it is thanks to you that my wife and son both survived childbirth. And," he smiled faintly, "I rather suspect that had I not alluded to our history before that incident, you wouldn't have brought it up either. So, I suppose it _was_ a blanket statement." He hesitated for a moment, before thrusting his hand forward. "No hard feelings."

Rumple hesitated for an instant before clasping it. "No… hard feelings," he repeated, not even bothering to hide his astonishment. "Thank you."

Robin withdrew his hand and patted the pouch at his belt meaningfully. "No. Thank _you_."

* * *

Ursula returned to Storybrooke in a foul mood. She'd obtained the magical ingredient she needed for the truth serum, yes, but the confrontation with her father still grated in her memory. She wasn't that same trusting child she'd been all those years ago in Neverland. She'd seen her father's true colors, swum away, and never once been back. Until today.

And her father had… Oh, she knew it had all been a ruse, of course. A trick to get her to lower her guard, so he could get under her skin and turn her back into his dutiful daughter. Ironic, really. He'd wanted her to use her voice to lure sailors to their doom. Today, that proposal seemed so much more appealing than it once had. If it wouldn't have meant being back under his thumb. He'd give her back her singing voice, of course, but she'd live every day with the knowledge that she possessed it at his pleasure and if she ever displeased him, he'd likely remove it once more. She wasn't about to give him the opportunity.

 _But he'd seemed almost conciliatory._ _And for one instant, she'd half-considered hearing him out._

She could still go back. Hear what he had to say; she had no obligation to believe him or agree to any request. She shook her head, mentally turning her back on the idea. She had people depending on her and a plan that actually had a chance of working. A real happy ending where she might just get everything she wanted without having to compromise or concede. She wouldn't have that if she went back to Neverland. Back to her father's tyranny. No.

She surfaced under the main pier in Storybrooke's harbor and realized that she was alone. So. The pirate seemed to have acquired the sense not to venture too close to her domain. Pity. She really needed to hit something right about now. Or someone. She allowed herself a small sigh of regret. Then she hauled herself up on the pier, let the freezing water slide away from her, and cloaked herself in a glamor spell for the trek back to the farmhouse. She had the ghost whale bone. Now it was just a question of locating another two items, and if the pirate came through for her, well, she might actually ease up on him. Slightly, anyway. If he didn't, well, at least she'd still have someone to hit.

* * *

In the back office, Rumple examined the pewter tea service more closely. One of Storybrooke's newer residents had brought it in to pawn several days earlier and, while it wasn't anything fancy, it was certainly serviceable. Or it would be, once it was cleaned up some. Rumple sighed. The water coming from the faucet of the bathroom sink wouldn't be nearly hot enough and it was always a challenge clearing counter space for the hot plate in an area near one of the two electrical outlets in the office.

Perhaps, there was another solution. He was still struggling with Tinkerbell's spell book. Polishing spells for a variety of household implements were in the early pages, but try though he might, he couldn't quite get them to work. He thought he knew the problem, too. For far too many decades, fairy magic had been anathema to him—at least, in the figurative sense. Nobody with a taint of Darkness could read their language, nor cast even their most neutral of spells.

It hadn't always been so. In fact, those restrictions had only been incorporated into their magical workings within the last three centuries—for reasons Rumple knew full well. But now, even though he was no longer the Dark One, he'd spent so much of his life _knowing_ that his magic couldn't work with that of the fairies that he couldn't fully believe that the rules had changed for him.

Had he been back in the Enchanted Forest, he might have sought out other purveyors of Light magic for instruction. But here? Regina hadn't brought any elementary spell books with her when the Curse had transported them all. Even Cora's old book was too advanced for him now. And Emma had no spell books; she'd absorbed the lessons that Regina had given her and was learning the rest via experimentation. _Supervised_ experimentation. Rumple frowned. Now, there was an idea. It might be a bit embarrassing to ask for such assistance, he acknowledged as he pushed aside the pewter-ware, but it would only sting for a little bit. Whereas fumbling basic spells that even an ogre's spawn could probably grasp in less time than it was taking him now would be far more humiliating.

He sighed again. And then, he reached for his coat and cane. With any luck, he'd be able to catch the Apprentice at home.

* * *

"I'm sorry," Tony said at the front door of the Apprentice's house. "Uncle Bené didn't say how long he and Tia would be, but you're welcome to come in and wait, if you like."

Rumple hesitated, but he'd misjudged the amount of walking his ankle could handle before it stopped aching and started throbbing, and he knew he wouldn't be able to make the trek back without a noticeable hobble. "If it wouldn't be too much of an imposition…" he murmured, taking a step forward as Tony moved aside to admit him.

"Can I offer you anything?" Tony asked, trailing behind. "Coffee? Tea?"

Rumple shook his head. "Thank you, no," he said, sinking into a padded armchair in the front room.

Tony took the only other seat available, one Rumple recognized as that which the Apprentice—Bené—had occupied the last time Rumple had come here. He smiled uneasily.

Tony shook his head. "He's not holding a grudge over that," he said.

"Pardon?"

The younger man smiled apologetically. "I guess Tia and I didn't mention it specifically when we met before. Sometimes, we… know things," he said, fidgeting a bit in the chair. "About people we encounter. She's better at controlling it than I am. Most of the time, I need her to tell me what she's picking up and then I see it too—usually fleshed out in greater detail. Other times, though, it's like a window suddenly opens in my brain and…" He looked away. "I know about the hat," he admitted. "And why you're here now. Maybe I can help."

"Can you?" Rumple snapped, caught off-guard and trying to mask his surprise with anger as he often did. "Your magic, as already established, isn't much like mine."

"Maybe it's more like yours than you realize," Tony said, still sounding diffident. "At least, in terms of methodology." He hesitated. "I think I could use some orange juice. Sure you don't want anything?"

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not," Tony smiled, pulling his harmonica out of his breast pocket. Putting the instrument to his mouth, he began to blow a lively melody.

Rumple glowered. His appreciation for harmonica music ranked marginally above his appreciation for the accordion—in other words, several notches below that of a two-year-old drumming on copper pots with a wooden spoon. (He'd never lost his temper with Bae, not even after he'd become the Dark One, but that impromptu percussion concert had brought him close to it.) And then, just when he was about to ask Tony whether he'd taken leave of his senses, a nearly-full glass of orange juice came floating out from the probable direction of the kitchen. It halted in front of Tony, just at eye level, until the younger man put down the harmonica and reached for it.

"Tia wouldn't have needed a tool to do any of this," Tony said, and took a sip. "But," he went on, as he set down the glass beside the harmonica, "she also wouldn't have been able to get the juice out of the fridge, pour it into a glass, replace the carton, and levitate the glass to her in here, unless she could see exactly what she was doing. So." He put the glass down on the table. "Would you say that one of us is more powerful than the other? Or would you say, rather, that our power manifests differently in both of us?"

Rumple blinked and Tony smiled again. "I know it's early days, still," he said with a seriousness that belied his friendly expression, "but has it occurred to you that needing a spindle to access your power doesn't necessarily mean it's weaker? Maybe it just needs a different channel than it used to."

Rumple didn't respond for a long moment, as he considered Tony's words. Then, just as the silence began to grow uncomfortable, he said pensively, "In all honesty, that notion _hadn't_ occurred to me. I'm not overly familiar with your brand of magic. But I take your point."

"Could I ask a couple of basic questions?" Tony asked, sounding in that moment, very much as Henry might. "Uncle Bené was explaining a bit about how the other kind of magic—the one you've always used—worked. I mean, it's what he uses, too, even if Tia and I didn't realize it until much later."

Rumple nodded impatiently. "I'm not hearing the questions."

Tony's eyebrows drew together in a puzzled frown. "I guess, let's start with the really basic one. How does it all… work? I mean, when it comes to spells, I've never heard Uncle Bené say 'hocus pocus' or 'a la peanut butter sandwiches' or anything. So, what happens exactly? Is it pretty much chemistry by another name: mix the right ingredients together and get the results you want? Or is there more to it?"

Rumple settled back in the armchair, relaxing as he felt himself once more on familiar ground. "Just a bit," he said. "You're quite correct that spells need not be spoken aloud. Back in our land, I grant that they often were," a sardonic smile curved his lips, "by pretentious individuals _aspiring_ to commence magical studies, charlatans attempting to pass off flash powder and sleight of hand as genuine sorcery, and thespians playing the roles of magicians—who had either never witnessed true mages at work, or assumed that their audiences came to the theater with certain preconceptions, likely influenced by those aforementioned aspirants and charlatans, about spell casting, and would dismiss any authentic portrayal of the craft as unrealistic. Rather than take the opportunity to set straight the record, those actors almost invariably opted to perpetuate the errors."

Tony chuckled. "My wife's a lawyer," he said, smiling once more. "She can't watch a legal drama on TV for more than five minutes before she starts yelling at the set as though the actors could hear her. I think I know what you mean."

"Indeed," Rumple nodded. "But, getting back to your question, there is a bit more to magic than assembling the components. One must _know_ the proper spell, even if it isn't necessary to voice the syllables."

"But…" Tony's expression grew worried, "how do you go about explaining that you were just studying the spell, but didn't intend to cast it? I mean, what if it goes off by accident?"

"That's been known to happen," Rumple nodded, impressed that Tony had asked a question he'd never received from one of his earlier pupils. "But it happens far less frequently than you might think. You see, in order to release the spell, it requires an emotional trigger. Anger to release it, joy to control it, and…" His eyes grew wide.

Tony leaned forward unconsciously, his face intent. "And… what?"

Rumple gripped the arms of his chair tightly. "I just realized. While I was able to spin magic into the thread on the spindle, when I relaxed my grip and it unraveled and…" His jaw dropped open. "It couldn't possibly be that simple," he said, his voice dropping almost to a whisper.

"Rumpelstiltskin?"

He pressed the tip of his cane to the wooden floor and rose laboriously to his feet. "I think," he said, still sounding thunderstruck, "I think I ought to get back home."

"Your ankle…" Tony frowned.

"I'll manage it," Rumple said, not quite able to suppress a wince. "This is more important."

"I'll tell Uncle Bené you were here," Tony acquiesced, getting up to escort Rumple to the door. "I _wish_ my talent extended to healing. But if an Ace bandage would help…?"

"It wouldn't," Rumple sighed. "But thank you for offering. As for… Bené," he continued, "it would seem that I might not need his assistance, after all." He smiled then. "Thank you for inviting me in, Mr. Castaway."

"Tony."

"Tony," Rumple's smile grew warmer. "I do believe your curiosity may be pointing me in a direction I hadn't thought to pursue."

Tony nodded, unsurprised. "Glad I could help. You sure you don't want to wait, though? Once my sister comes back, she can drive you."

"Tempting," Rumple admitted, "but I think I'd best be getting along. I wish you good day."

"Well. I'll wish you the same," Tony replied, just as formally.

* * *

"Good, you're back," Lily said, before Cruella could even drop her glamor spell. "We all need to talk. Privately."

Ursula blinked. Then she looked around the living room-dining room area pointedly. "Isn't that what we're doing?" she demanded.

"No, dahling," Cruella spoke up from the sofa. "There've been some new developments since you've been off in the ocean, frolicking with baby seals."

Ursula fought down a wave of irritation. "There are no seals in Neverland," she said tetchily.

Cruella sighed. "And no animals apart from some undisciplined urchins? I think I understand better why you left the place."

"Don't get sidetracked," Lily interrupted. "We need someplace we can talk without anyone magically eavesdropping."

"Who would—?" Ursula started to ask, but Cruella cut her off.

"The former occupant of this house. Who has, apparently, already been privy to most of our conversations here. Possibly this one, too, in fact."

Ursula's eyes widened. "Your car," she said shortly. "It's your property; I can make a shielded space for us there, even if we're still on _her_ property. Otherwise, depending on how strong this person is, I don't think I can block her out, so long as we're in her domain." She frowned. "If this person is listening…"

"She already knows we don't trust her," Lily said. "And I don't seriously believe she trusts us. But I do believe she _needs_ us. And if I have to pick between her knowing we're going someplace she can't listen in to plan our strategy, and her knowing what that strategy is, I'll take option A."

Ursula nodded slowly.

* * *

"So," Cruella said, several moments later, "we're agreed?"

Ursula and Lily nodded. "We don't need to trust her to use her," Lily confirmed, leaning over from the back seat of the Golden Spirit to speak to the two women in the front, "seeing as she's probably thinking the same about us."

"Yes, no honor among villains, dahling," Cruella smirked. "Present company excepted, of course."

"Of course," Lily and Ursula replied, neither one voicing the word ' _not_ ' that each mentally tacked on.

"But," Lily added, "she did give us something useful to try to demonstrate her friendly intentions."

"Oh?" Ursula replied, her eyebrows shooting upwards.

"How far along are we in developing that truth serum?" Cruella asked.

Ursula sighed. "Well, I got the ghost whale fin, which was the only ingredient we needed that isn't found here. But tracking down the rest of the components might be a challenge. If Hook can point me toward the Dark One's workshop, it'll help. If not… well, it'll take a bit longer."

"Not necessarily," Lily said, with a thin smile. "If we're done in here, Cruella and I have something to show you. Just try not to let slip anything you don't want overheard when you see it."

* * *

Ursula's breath caught, as she surveyed the shelves in the storage cellar. "Unbelievable," she said, taking down another stack of cans and blinking as glittering powders and glowing liquids seemed to wink back at her. "To think that all of this has been here the whole time."

"So…?" Cruella prompted.

Ursula nodded. "It's all here. I can get started on the serum tonight. After supper."


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The lines Rumple recalls appear in "I'm Flying," Performed by Mary Martin, Maureen Bailey, Kent Fletcher, and Joey Trent in the 1960 televised broadcast of Peter Pan.

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

The half-heart in his chest was pounding with enough strength to be mistaken for the whole organ as Rumple made his way home. His ankle would take him to task for the exertion later; for now, he couldn't wait for who knew how long until Tony's sister returned with her car. A pity he hadn't known of public transit when he'd created the Dark Curse in the Enchanted Forest. If he had, he would have ensured that Storybrooke had sprung into existence equipped with an extensive bus network. But towns and villages in the Enchanted Forest were sparsely-populated by comparison and their denizens seldom had need to travel more than a few steps from their front doors—apart from district fair days, when wagon-drivers maintained a brisk seasonal business ferrying travelers to and from the grounds. Otherwise, one generally walked where one wanted to go. Coaches existed, to be sure, but they were generally reserved for the nobles. And one thing that Rumple had been quite firm about when creating the Dark Curse was that in this new land, cursed though they all might be, nearly every resident of the town would possess a personal coach—or whatever the equivalent might be. (He'd made an exception for Snow White, seeing as Regina was enacting the curse in the first place for the sole purpose of punishing her.) Rumple simply hadn't seen a purpose to importing a wagon service in a land where nearly everybody owned a coach.

He was paying for that oversight now.

It was only ten blocks from the Apprentice's house to his own. Ten short blocks. And, from what he recalled of the maps in the New York City subway cars, on certain lines, that distance might have contained at least two, possibly three stations.

He passed green space—more of a grizzled brown at this time of year, with dead grass poking through a thin layer of snow—and debated whether to rest on one of the two benches for a moment, but decided against it. It would be that much harder to get up again and it was already mid-afternoon. The temperature would only keep falling now, as the day waned. And he really didn't have that much farther to go.

_And he could always call the number the others had given him to request assistance._

He snorted at the thought. This was scarcely an emergency. He was nearly home.

_But it was heartening to know that someone would come to his assistance if he asked. At least, he believed that such would be the case, even if he wasn't about to test it._

Rumple sucked a breath in through his teeth and pressed onward.

* * *

August checked the varnish on the last game piece and smiled. "Well," he said to Marco, "I guess that's that."

Marco looked at the two Battleship sets, sitting side-by-side on the work table, the cases open to display the model ships and pegs. "I think that Merryweather, she was wrong," he said thoughtfully.

"Papa?"

The handyman smiled. "She said that when you took the Dark One dagger, you freed yourself from the possibility of reverting to wood, but that you probably lost any ability to perform magic."

August blinked. "I still don't see—?"

Marco wrapped an arm around his son's shoulders and steered him closer to the work table. "Then look, my boy," he said warmly. "The scale, the craftsmanship, the attention to detail… There's magic in your hands, Pinocchio. The best kind of magic there is."

August shook his head, but he was smiling. "I'm not sure Rumpelstiltskin would agree with that."

"I think he might," Marco returned. "I think he just might. When do you plan to give it to him?"

August considered. "I'm not sure. I want to make sure I can find both of them in a relatively short span of time, but not when they're face to face. Gold's easy; he's usually at the shop during business hours. The captain, on the other hand, gets around."

"I think I can help you with that," Marco smiled. "Leroy, he was here the other day, talking about a ship the captain had commissioned him to build and asking if I'd be able to lend a hand. I may not know much about building a real ship," he admitted, "but I imagine hammers and saws are involved and I do know quite a bit about using those. I'm sure I can find some pretext to ask him to come and discuss his ideas with me. And if you present him with his gift then, well, I can keep him talking long enough for you to dash off to the shop with Rumpelstiltskin's."

Father and son shared a smile.

* * *

Fate had, Rumple reflected, a truly twisted sense of humor at times. He hadn't known what this new land would be like, merely that it would have no magic and that, one day, he would find his son in it. Had he been able to discern that events transpiring in the Enchanted Forest and other magical realms would be known to the denizens of this land—however distorted their account might be—he might have enacted certain safeguards.

For certain, he would have ensured that, while under the curse, he would have found better use for his time than to watch an old recording of a musical featuring a certain title character, much less listen to the soundtrack when the cassette tape turned up in the stack beside his stereo. He'd tried to blot those recollections out of his head once Emma had come to Storybrooke and he'd remembered who he was. But now, unbidden, the spoken dialogue that accompanied the insipid song lyrics surfaced once more.

_First I must blow the fairy dust on you!_

_Now think lovely thoughts_

_Think lovely thoughts  
_

_Think lovely thoughts_

A young boy's voice cried out: _Fishing?_

It was immediately followed by that of a girl: _Hopscotch?_

And then, an even younger boy proclaimed: _Candy!_

The children called forth more suggestions in the same order:

_Picnics_

_Summer_

_Candy!_

_Sailing_

_Flowers_

_Candy!_

And then, the original speaker, a woman playing the part of a young boy, directed with a smile in her voice, _Lovelier thoughts, Michael!_

_Christmas?!_

Of all the curse memories to have stuck, Rumple thought with a wince, it almost would have to have been that one. No wonder Emma hadn't believed the danger Neverland presented until she met it—and his father—head on. But even in such idiocy as that telling of his father's history, there was a grain of truth.

To unlock one's magic, one needed to seize on a memory that made them seethe with anger. That wasn't much of a problem for Rumple. There were so many at his disposal. But to channel that magic, it took memories of a more pleasant sort, and, over the course of his long life, those had been much fewer and farther between. He could have used his recollections of Bae's childhood, but those were all tinged with his misery at later losing him. Much like his memories of those early happy days with Milah were bound up with his recollections of what their life together had been like after his return from the front. Until now, he'd latched onto the only time in his life where he'd felt loved and appreciated unconditionally. Perhaps a delicious aroma and the privilege of the first bite of meat pie were small things, but they'd been enough.

Except that, armed with more recent knowledge, Rumple now knew that most of that had been a lie as well. It hadn't been real; not real enough, anyway. Tony was right. Using the spindle to access his magic might not be something he was used to, but that wasn't the real issue. He _did_ have magic and he _was_ able to call it forth; he had more than enough anger for that. But he needed lovelier thou—no. _He needed_ _happier_ _memories_ if he was to direct that magic instead of just letting his thread fly apart and hope that the fibers landed where they could be of some use. He'd been lucky with the tomte thistle. How would he manage if it was a fireball spell that went awry?

He reached for the spell book and read once more the de-salting charm on the first page after the introduction. It looked simple enough. It _was_ simple enough. But this time, instead of using spinning as a means of calming his mind so that it could be in the proper frame for working magic, he would try to use the spinning as the magic. He knew well enough how to call on his anger; he'd done it easily enough before. But as for the happier memories?

He was surprised to discover how many he'd made in recent weeks. His wedding night. Booth reaching out to him on the library steps. Waking up that first morning in the hotel and realizing that he wasn't dreaming. So many sincere apologies, so many friendly overtures… connections, re-connections, offers and demonstrations of support… Each had warmed his heart—or what was left of it. But while any of those might prove effective, he chose instead a different moment. One where he had realized, once and for all, that with or without power, he had a value that nobody could deny him unless he denied it himself.

 _I was never nothing!_ He snarled once more in his mind. And once again, he felt the Darkness's hold on his mind loosen and melt away in the Light of that unvarnished truth. It hadn't been his first step away from the mindset he'd been locked into, but it had been one of the most important. It had been the moment that he'd finally looked his greatest enemy in the eye and turned his back on it, not in anger, not even out of a desperation to cling to some last vestige of the good man he'd once been, but in disgust that he'd let himself be fooled into traveling down Darkness's road for so long. But even within that disgust there had been the sheer joy that he had finally recognized his foe and defeated it entirely on his own. Now, eyes closed, he gripped the memory of that joy as though it were a piece of wool fiber, twisted it firmly, and fed it onto his drop spindle. When he opened his eyes again and looked at the newly-spun yarn, his eyes widened, even as a wondering smile came to his lips. Spiraling through the undyed grey wool was a glistening thread of gold.

* * *

Zelena smiled to herself, even as she gently stroked Billina's head and back. On the whole, she thought, that had gone rather well. Oh, they didn't trust her, of course, and that was to be expected. But they knew who she was, they knew her reputation, and they were almost certainly considering her offer.

In the past, she'd concentrated most of her spying on her half-sister's activities but, while Regina had often operated alone, she'd spent enough time in the company of Ursula and Cruella for Zelena to have observed those two as well.

Based on those observations, either woman would make a decent ally for the short term. And neither would pose a credible threat down the road, when their usefulness ended. Ursula was angry and bitter. Her hatred for the pirate was something that Zelena knew she could twist toward her own purpose. At the same time, the sea witch didn't appear to be overly ambitious—certainly not to the point that Zelena thought she'd need to worry about being stabbed from behind. At least, not from that quarter.

Cruella was a different case. If that one had the power to match her greed, she'd be formidable. As it was, Zelena didn't think she had much to worry about from a foe whose magical gift extended solely to control over animals. She glanced down at the chicken in her arm and frowned. On the other hand, if Cruella did mean to move against her at some point, then Billina would need to be protected. And, Zelena reflected, if she started building up a force of flying monkeys again, they might also be prone to outside influence… Well. She still didn't think that Cruella's power would be a match for hers, but it wouldn't do to be _too_ complacent about it.

Lily, though, was an unknown quantity who would bear careful watching. Presently, she'd demonstrated intelligence, forethought, and ambition. Those alone didn't make her dangerous. But if she were to possess her mother's power, it would be rather a different story. In fact, depending on how the cards fell, Zelena rather suspected that the young woman might be her strongest ally…

…Or her greatest rival.

And before Zelena quitted this cell to take her place in the world outside, she knew that she would need to determine which it would be and plan her tactics accordingly.

Meanwhile, she sighed mentally, she was resigned to waiting. Going by the light filtering in through her sole window, it was getting close to dinner time. She cuddled the chicken closer and resisted the urge to check up on her house guests until after the orderly came by with her tray.

* * *

"Chalk?" Astrid repeated with a merry giggle. "On the floor? And Rumpelstiltskin didn't mind?"

Belle was laughing too. "I think it might even have been his idea. I was wondering, though, you're working with children Aggie's age now at the daycare, right?"

"A little younger," Astrid corrected. "You said she's five? Mrs. Herman has me with the two and three-year-olds."

"Oh," Belle's smile dimmed somewhat. "I was hoping you might have some ideas for activities."

"Well," Astrid said, "I can ask Mrs. Herman, but I'd think you'll find a lot of suggestions online or in the library."

"I did," Belle admitted. "But it's one thing to read a list of suggestions. It's something else to know which ones are most likely to work."

"True," Astrid said, "but one thing you need to remember is that no two children have the same personality. Some are going to like doing one thing; some will like something else. And just because they liked something they did yesterday doesn't necessarily mean they'll want to do it again today." Her eyebrows shot up. "You said she was drawing for how long?"

"I don't know," Belle admitted. "Maybe an hour?"

Astrid whistled. "That's pretty impressive, right there. Most five-year-olds have a hard time focusing on an activity for more than about fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Sounds like she might be advanced for her age." She chuckled. "Or like she really enjoys drawing. All the same," she went on, serious now, "if you're planning a day's activities for her, I'd go in with four or five things planned. You can go back and cycle through them a few times, but if she gets bored with one thing, you want to have something else lined up and ready to go."

Belle nodded. "Thanks. I'll talk things over with Rumple tonight."

Astrid smiled. "He'll probably have some good ideas of his own. I mean, he had a son; he probably remembers what he was like when he was Aggie's age."

Belle's eyes widened. "That's right," she agreed. "He probably will. Uh… could you maybe… hold off on asking Mrs. Herman for now?"

"Sure," Astrid said uncertainly. "I mean, if you want me to. Did I say something wrong?"

"No," Belle shook her head with a smile. "Just the opposite. I think you might have saved me from making an old mistake."

* * *

Funny how history had a way of repeating itself, Belle thought, as she made her way back home. When she'd first come to live with Rumple in his castle, she'd put on as brave a face as she could, but inside, she'd been terrified of what he might have in store for her. Those first days, before she'd begun to see the man behind the monster, she'd walked on eggshells in his presence, certain that the slightest misstep might see her chained to the wall in the dungeon he'd called her room, turned into a frog, or blasted to dust.

Gradually, she'd realized that, dark though he was, he truly meant her no harm. She'd seen past the mocking giggling façade to the loneliness within and she'd begun to relax in his presence—at least enough that she felt safe in standing up to him.

She'd never stopped.

Oh, she'd told herself—and him—that she was trying to help him be his best self, and that had definitely been part of it. But part of it had also been the conviction that she knew best, that it was her mission to reform him, and that the only hope he had of breaking free from his darkness was through the strength of their love.

And she'd never stopped trying to make him over into the idealized version of himself she'd concocted in her head until she'd been forced to acknowledge how far from reality that vision was. And then she'd blamed him for not measuring up and banished him. Even in New York, when they'd begun to patch things together, she'd still been so focused on the flaws she'd hitherto overlooked (while conveniently ignoring her own failings) that she'd nearly destroyed everything they'd been trying to build together. And although they were slowly backing further away from that brink each day, still the chasm yawned a bit too close by for comfort.

And she'd almost taken another step closer.

 _You've never raised a child_ , she told herself furiously. _Apart from babysitting Neal for a few evenings—which he mostly slept through, and the one time he didn't, you had his bottle ready and waiting—you've barely even been in the presence of a child for any length of time. And here, you're trying to plan activities for a five-year-old and present Rumple with some… some… schedule, without even consulting him._ Or _Aggie_ , she added, wincing a bit.

This wasn't as bad as trying to change Rumple 'for his own good', but it was still the same old problem: she was assuming she knew best and charging ahead with her confidence and her convictions, without pausing to consider whether her way was actually the best way for the circumstances at hand. More to the point, if she and Rumple were together again then, while it wasn't necessary for them to do _everything_ as a couple, at the very least, they could discuss things like this with one another. Between the two of them, they'd probably brainstorm more effectively than either could do on their own.

 _And if he rebuffs me and tells me that he knows what he's doing and doesn't need my help?_ She flinched as her mind voiced the question. Then she shook her head. _In this case_ , she answered herself, _he probably does. And if he's wrong, then I'll be right there to help him pick up the pieces and not rub it in._ Her lips twitched as she added one more word to her unvoiced response.

_…Much._

* * *

"You've been quiet tonight," Emma said, raising her glass of red wine to her lips. She took a sip and set it down carefully on the white tablecloth.

Killian smiled back. Then he pulled his hip flask out of his pocket and took a swig.

"Rum, not wine," Emma observed, her tone still light and teasing. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were nervous."

Killian raised the flask to his lips once more. When he lowered it to the table, he gave her an uneasy smile. "You're certain we'll not be disturbed?" he asked. "Your parents won't be back early?"

Emma blinked. "No, they promised they'd leave the place to us tonight. They wanted some alone time, too. Granny's watching Neal, Henry's at Regina's… It's just the two of us. At least until Granny's closes at eleven." Her expression sobered. "Why? What's wrong?"

Killian shook his head and started to reach for the flask again. Then he shook his head and slid it back into his pocket. "I'm afraid I'm feeling myself haunted by the past tonight, love," he said heavily.

Emma absorbed that for a moment. "Old memories?" she asked, sliding her hand across the table.

He took it. "In a way, love," he said. "I… Well. This is difficult."

Emma waited for him to continue, but he sat silently, his lips pressed together, his hand gently squeezing hers. Finally, she said, "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. It's okay."

"No," he shook his head. "It's not. I do want to tell you… everything. Only…"

Emma nodded. "Only letting down walls, even around people you trust, can be…" She hesitated. "Well… for me, anyway, it's pretty scary."

Killian smiled at that. "Aye," he said. "And not just for you. It's… well. I suppose you might say I'm bilged on my own anchor."

Emma took another sip of wine. "I admit I'm not up on my pirate slang, but that doesn't sound good."

"It's not," Killian confirmed. "You… know I've done many things in the past that I'm no longer proud of. Things that I'm half-certain would drive you away if you knew a quarter of them."

"Killian?"

He took another breath. "Someone I… hurt… long ago is in this town. And she seeks to," a bitter smile came to his lips, "Well. I suppose the past has returned to haunt me in more ways than one. She now threatens my happiness in much the same way that I once threatened Rumpelstiltskin's. And I suppose that the best way to neutralize that threat is," he started to reach into his jacket pocket again. Then he shook his head and took the wine bottle instead, filling his glass nearly to the top but stopping before it overflowed the rim. "Well, I imagine 't'would be better for you to hear the truth from my lips rather than hers…"

* * *

Rumple was sitting at the kitchen table when Belle came home with two books under her arm. He smiled a warm greeting as she walked toward him. "If you've not eaten yet, I can have something in the microwave in short order."

Belle smiled back. "I haven't. But I hope you weren't waiting for me; it's nearly nine o'clock."

Rumple shrugged. "It's of no matter. I was otherwise occupied." He got up and walked toward the freezer. "Does bean and barley soup sound all right for you?"

Belle nodded. "I was thinking about Aggie," she murmured. "If she's going to be coming to the shop every week, do you think we ought to plan some activities for her?"

Rumple smiled. "The thought had crossed my mind," he admitted. "Bae was always artistic; it's one of the reasons I thought that the child would appreciate chalk drawing." He smiled. "Of course, that's no guarantee that she'll be as amenable next time. Bae certainly had other interests, as well."

"I… uh… hope you don't mind, but I was discussing a few ideas with Astrid," Belle said, encouraged. "She's working more with the children a bit younger than Aggie, but she had a few thoughts." She briefly outlined what the fairy had told her about children's attention spans.

Rumple nodded his understanding. "She's quite right, of course," he confirmed. "I was rather surprised that she kept at the drawing as long as she did. It did make me think that she might appreciate finger painting, though I believe we'd need to scrounge up an old shirt or two—adult-sized, I mean—to protect her clothing. And likely a roll of brown paper or some drop cloths to protect her work surface, though those paints are meant to be washable."

"I can stop by the art supply store tomorrow on my lunch break," Belle nodded. "Or maybe after you close up the shop, so you can come with me?" She hesitated. "I mean, I've been looking up ideas in these," she thrust the books forward, "but I… well, I've never done any of this before and I'm not sure I would have thought about old shirts or brown paper or…"

Rumple shook his head. "Curse memories have their uses," he admitted. "Otherwise, I'm sure I'd be as lost as you sound on the subject. Bae worked mostly with charcoal; he did odd jobs when he could in order to afford paper. Other times, he'd use lumber scraps or bits of bark." His eyes were soft as he remembered. "He never saw it as a hardship, so much as a challenge."

His eyebrows lifted. "While I agree that a trip to Mr. Eulinspeigel is probably warranted, we could actually make the finger paints here with no more than flour, water, and food coloring."

"That's all?" Belle said, surprised.

Rumple nodded. "It's something I wanted to make for Bae back in our land, but by that time, the taxes were increasing, food was being tithed for the army, and it was wasteful to use flour for such a purpose when one didn't know whether there'd be enough to last until the next wheat harvest." He hesitated for the barest instant before he added, "At least that wouldn't be a concern for… for any child that _we_ might have in due course."

Belle's eyes widened. Then, with a glad smile, she closed the distance between them and threw her arms about her husband.

* * *

Emma didn't say a word until Killian was finished speaking. In a way, she was glad that he'd broken eye contact after about the first thirty seconds. She didn't like what he was telling her, not one bit, and she knew her emotions had to be showing on her face. That poor girl…

_Which is exactly why he's waited so long to say anything. He knew you'd react this way._

Yeah, that was kind of the point. She'd known, of course, that he'd been a pirate and a villain, obsessed with revenge on Rumpelstiltskin, but somehow, she hadn't thought that he'd have destroyed a young girl's dreams just to get back at her father for thwarting him.

_Gold's done some pretty Dark stuff too and you've been willing to overlook that._

She hadn't been thinking about a future with him.

_Not to mention your parents._

That had taken longer. And at least they were trying to…

She took a breath. "What you did to this… Ursula. Can you reverse it? Give her back her voice?"

Killian sucked in a breath and locked his eyes on hers for the first time since he'd started talking. "It's not that easy, love," he said. "Not because I don't want to, mind."

"Then…?"

He shook his head. "The shell in which I captured her voice isn't… with me anymore. It was in my cabin on the _Jolly Roger_ and that's currently back in the Enchanted Forest, so far as I know." He studied the table and pressed a hand to his forehead. "I'd need passage back there in order to gain access to the ship. Perhaps its current owner could be persuaded to allow me to recover it for the proper compensation." He hesitated. "Always assuming it's still on board."

"What?"

"It's a perfectly ordinary-looking shell, love. I mean, it's a flawless specimen and worthy of gracing a display, to be sure, but nobody seeing it would know what it contained. It might yet be adorning my cabin's sideboard, or it might be somewhere at the bottom of the ocean." He shook his head. "Until Ursula sought me out here, I'd truly given the matter little reflection these past years."

"You're saying," Emma said slowly, "that in order to fix this, you'll need to get back to the Enchanted Forest somehow."

"Aye," Killian nodded. "If it's at all possible to restore her voice, the answer lies there."

"All right," Emma said, pushing back her chair. "Come on."

"Where are you taking me, Swan?"

Emma exhaled noisily. "If there's any way of crossing realms, Gold would know it. And I think he'd also be interested in finding out that Ursula's looking to rob him, don't you?"

Killian winced. "I'm not looking forward to finding out whether that dream I had was fantasy or prophecy, but I'm afraid you're right." He took a final swig from his hip flask. "After you, love."

* * *

Ursula used a pair of tongs to remove the porcelain crucible from atop the Bunsen burner flame. She nodded with satisfaction as she tipped a stream of clear liquid too thick to be water into an iron flask and set the empty receptacle on a wire gauze mat. "This part is still new to me," she admitted, as she turned off the Bunsen burner.

"You mean, using fire?" Lily asked.

Ursula shook her head. "No, I got used to that pretty quickly when I started visiting the surface world. But, generally speaking, back in the Enchanted Forest, crucibles were meant to be used once and then thrown away. They couldn't withstand being reheated very well, and they were cheap to make and replace." She shrugged. "I will admit it's more convenient this way, even if it is one more thing to wash up afterwards. She gestured toward the flask. "Anyway, that's it; it's done. When the liquid cools, it'll have the consistency of honey, though it won't taste like much of anything. You shouldn't need more than a tablespoon's worth for the desired effect, but it'll function as a binder in your cake batter. I'd use one egg less in your recipe if I were you."

Lily nodded. "Got it. I…uh… was looking for recipes online before. I think I've narrowed it down to five."

"Nothing overly complicated, I hope," Ursula cautioned.

Lily shook her head. "Well. A couple call for separating eggs, but I know how to do that."

"This one," Ursula said decisively.

"The jam cake?"

Ursula nodded. "Honey… jam… they're both thick liquids. And if the serum doesn't have fruit chunks in it, well, you're only replacing a tablespoon of it. Just remember; you're going to have to make the batter in two bowls from the beginning instead of dividing it between the layer pans. Unless you're sure you can get him to sample a piece without partaking of it yourself."

Lily gave her an incredulous look. "This thing has pineapple, cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg, blackberry jam _and_ caramel frosting. You better believe I'm gonna partake!"

"Fine," Ursula said, smiling a bit. "I guess you'd better make up a shopping list and I'll cast another glamor spell. Because as soon as Cruella's woodland spies tell us that the old man's home alone, you need to be ready."

"Oh, I will be," Lily said darkly. "Trust me."


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The recipe for black tea ink may be found on the hobby farms website.

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

 

When he received Emma's text, Rumple felt a familiar tension knot in the pit of his stomach. He couldn't precisely tell why. A late-night message directing him to meet her at his shop scarcely boded well, though he wasn't certain if his apprehension was because he feared he'd be unable to help her, or because he was still half-expecting that the camaraderie they'd shared these last months had actually been part of a very long setup. Perhaps it had all been a ploy to back him into a corner and extort some favor from him, 'after everything she'd done for him'. He wasn't sure which option would distress him more.

And his worry only grew when he arrived to find that she hadn't come alone. At least the good captain had done him the courtesy of waiting outside for him this time, instead of picking the lock on the door and going in ahead as he'd done before.

"Well?" he barked, falling back on irritation to mask his fear. "What can the two of you want at this ungodly hour?"

The captain flinched, while Emma took a step forward. "We need to talk. Well, actually, Killian has to tell you something. And… and I'm sorry if you'd already turned in and we dragged you out of bed for this, but I don't think it can wait." She jerked her head toward the barred door of the shop. "Could we go in?"

Rumple's gaze panned from her to the captain, who was studying the pavement at his feet with particular interest. It wasn't until Jones looked up once more and nodded faintly that Rumple shrugged with feigned nonchalance and slid the key he was already holding into the lock on the door. "I suppose as long as I'm here, I might as well listen," he muttered, as he gave the key a turn and hoped that the two of them were overreacting.

From the expressions on their faces, though, he didn't believe they were.

* * *

Lily was going through the kitchen cabinets with a frown when she heard two sets of footsteps behind her. She turned to see Ursula and Cruella behind her. "No layer pans," she said, annoyance plain in her voice. "I don't suppose you remember whether we passed any housewares stores when we went into town?"

Ursula shook her head. "I think we need to revise the plan a bit," she said. "Cruella and I were discussing things in the car just now and," she hesitated, "I think this is going to work a lot better if I disguise myself as you and go in your place."

Lily started to protest. Then she thought it over. "Mind telling me why?" she asked evenly.

Cruella sighed. "It's like this, dahling. Seeking out the Apprentice is the first step, but we'll only really have one shot at interrogating him. Once we leave, he's going to be under a sleeping curse and if there was any additional information to be wrung out of him, the opportunity would be lost. And," despite her languorous pose and drawling speech, her eyes were deadly serious, "Ursula knows more about spellcasting than either of the two of us. She'll think to ask questions about the sorts of enchantments he's been using that we wouldn't."

"If the Apprentice knew you better," Ursula spoke up again, "I wouldn't risk pretending to be you. We'd stick to your plan and I'd try to coach you on what to ask as best I could. But he met you once, more than fifteen years ago. If not for that birthmark you showed me, I doubt he'd recognize you now. He won't know you well enough to see through the ruse until it's too late."

"Maybe," Lily said slowly. "But he found me on a bus going from Mankato to Pittsburgh in the middle of the night. He could have been keeping tabs on me all this time."

"Keeping tabs on a person isn't the same as getting to know them. We'll assume he knows some basic facts about you; where you've lived, what sort of jobs you've held, what talents you might possess—and if you can share that with me, it'll help. But as far as your personality, phrases you'd use, things you'd never say in a million years…" She smiled. "I doubt he's been paying _that_ much attention. I mean, we've seen for ourselves that you aren't the only person who's been occupying his time over the years. I don't recognize the man or woman he's been hanging about with from the Enchanted Forest, but they're staying in his house and it's obvious they mean something to him. Close friends or family I don't know, but I'd wager he's spent more time with them than a few minutes on a bus to Pittsburgh."

Lily sighed. "All right," she acquiesced. "I take your point. And actually," she said slowly, "there might be something else I can look into while you're doing that, but we can discuss it later. For now," she reached for the shopping list she was working on, "let's double check I've written down everything. And maybe I'll mix up enough batter so I can make a couple of extra cupcakes or so." She gave the two women a resigned smile. "I really was looking forward to tasting that cake."

* * *

Rumple listened silently as Killian made his explanations, reserving his comments for the end. Finally, his eyebrows lifted and his face relaxed into something that was almost a smile. "Well," he said finally, "you have been having a wretched few days, haven't you?"

The Captain pressed his lips tightly together and looked away with some measure of irritation.

Rumple sighed. As much as part of him did want to draw things out a bit—this w _as_ a man who had devoted almost two hundred years to plotting his demise after all—he had a feeling that Emma wouldn't approve and, over the course of these last weeks, her approval had come to matter to him. "I do realize that coming to me with this tale isn't something you've undertaken lightly," he said in a more congenial tone. "I appreciate your candor." He hesitated for another second, before adding softly, "and your discretion in not disclosing my current condition."

Killian looked away. "Yes, well, we do have a truce," he mumbled.

"Indeed. But she and I do not. So, you've my thanks for not sharing more with her than you needed to."

Killian gave him a quick nod. "That being said, your current condition appears to be the town scuttlebutt. I mean, she did ask me about it."

"But you didn't choose to enlighten her." Rumple smiled. "That may prove helpful down the road." He shrugged as though the matter was only of minor import. "Time will tell."

"Is there a way you know that Killian could get back to the Enchanted Forest to find that shell?" Emma asked, steering back to the main subject.

Rumple frowned. "There are three ways I know of offhand. One would be to procure a bean. As I hear it, our diminutive giant granted one to Ruby some weeks back. It would be worthwhile to see whether he has more."

Killian winced at that. "Tiny is rather particular about who he shares that crop with. And seeing as he made the voyage to Storybrooke aboard my vessel under," he paused delicately, "conditions comparable to those under which you spent the better part of the past year, it's fair to say that there's little love lost between him and me. While I'll admit I've yet to ask him, I was hoping that there might be some other alternatives. What's the second solution?"

If Rumple was at all put out by being reminded of his treatment while in Zelena's power, he didn't show it. Instead, he chuckled. "Why, the same one that returned you there a year ago, of course. Get the curse scroll, cast the Dark Curse anew, pay the price, and we all return. Well. Except young Henry, of course." He shook his head and continued more seriously, "It took more years than your quest to murder me for me to find a way to this land. It would likely take as long again to find a way out of it." He turned to Emma.

"As far as the third… You never were successful in crafting that hat for Jefferson, were you?"

Emma blinked. "No. I-I'm not even sure I could make a normal one. I mean, one without magic," she amended. "But a magical one? I wouldn't know where to start."

"Well," Rumple said, "I would. But I shouldn't think you'll be able to put it together in a day. It would be the work of several weeks, at least. And that's _if_ you can get it to work. Fashioning magical artifacts is a good deal more complicated than casting the odd spell."

"If you helped…?" Emma prompted.

Rumple shook his head. "I can lend you the books and show you the enchantments, but I'm afraid I'm less up to the task than you are at the moment." He sighed. "It really is unfortunate that King George let his vendetta against your father lead him to destroy the original. We could have done something with it, damaged though it was. But then, vendettas do have a way of destroying more than their object." He paused, just for the barest instant, before making eye contact with Killian.

"…Unless one finds the strength to lay them aside and move forward," he added. He waited for the captain's startled nod. Then, he continued quickly, "The bean really would be your best chance, you know. But if approaching… Tiny… is too difficult," he smiled faintly, "then I suppose I can do my best to assist Emma with fashioning the alternative."

He frowned then and Emma asked, "Is something wrong?"

"I'm not certain," he admitted. "Perhaps you could enlighten me as to how long Ursula has been in Storybrooke?"

Emma and Killian exchanged a glance. "I don't know everyone here," Emma admitted. "But a lot of people did come over with the second casting."

"Aye," Killian nodded. "That was my thought as well. Although I certainly didn't spend much time meeting people on my first foray into this town. For all I know, she was here all along."

Rumple shook his head. "No, she wasn't. And… I suppose it's possible that the second curse did transport her as it did the rest of us. But when I was last in New York, I…"

Emma waited patiently for him to continue. When he didn't, it was Killian who finally said, "Rumpelstiltskin?"

Rumple took in another breath and exhaled noisily. "In the state I was in after Belle exiled me, I'm sure that you can appreciate that my decision to reach out to her later was not one I made easily. I came… very close… to making contact with another in hopes of stealing back to town a different way."

"But I thought that…" Emma caught herself. Clearly, Rumple had thought that there might be some way of getting through the barrier, or he'd never have called Belle in the first place. "Go on."

Rumple wasn't meeting anybody's eyes now. "When I made plans to look for Bae, initially, I wasn't certain that I was going involve you. After the curse broke, I used blood magic to learn that he was in New York. And then, I cast another spell to see whether anyone else from a magical realm had somehow crossed over."

"That sounds like something of a reach," Killian snorted.

Rumple smiled. "Oh, it was. But Emma owed me one favor and one only. I debated with myself for some time as to whether to call it in when I did or wait in case a more dire need presented itself. At any rate," he continued, "when I cast that spell last year, I discovered that Ursula was then residing in Manhattan. I took note of her address and filed it away for reference. And, when I found myself in that city again, several months ago, I used a public internet terminal to confirm both her address and her place of business."

He frowned again. "I suppose that the listing could have been out of date. She _was_ a mermaid once. And the power to cross realms isn't something she would have lost in her current incarnation." His eyebrows shot up. "I'd always assumed that a magical being wouldn't be able to cross to a land without magic; when I sent Ariel here for Pandora's Box, I told her to ensure she surfaced within the protection spell's boundaries for more than one reason. But if Ursula came here, for whatever reason, one would think she'd have her ways of getting back. And if she'd traveled to the Enchanted Forest at some point before the second curse was cast, once it was, it could have brought her here." His frown was back now and deeper than it had been.

"At least, we can hope so."

"Gold?"

Rumple took another breath. "If the curse didn't bring her here, then it would mean that she not only crossed the town line—presumably at a point when it shouldn't have been possible—but that she somehow learned of this place while residing in New York. Something that should be even more impossible."

* * *

From within the confines of the Golden Spirit, Ursula looked from Lily to Cruella. "Well," she asked. "What do you think?"

Cruella hesitated. "There is something to be said for meeting with her in person, I suppose. There's no doubt that she was putting on her best face when she spoke with us earlier. But setting up the meeting isn't going to be as simple as you seem to think, Lily, dahling. I'm not saying it's a bad idea to volunteer at the hospital; you'll probably overhear all kinds of useful information. But they're not going to send some high school candy-striper down to the secure wing to attend to one of their more notorious inmates."

Lily shrugged. "I was thinking I'd start out that way. Play the part of the wide-eyed kid who just can't get over how wonderful it is to be doing something in the grown-up world." She smiled. "And I chat up a few security guards. Did I mention I'm a damned good pickpocket? I'll bet you anything you want that I can steal someone's ID card and be three floors away before they even notice it's missing. And then?" She smiled. "Well, if I can use a glamor spell to pass myself off as one of them, it'll be a bonus. But really? All I need is the right uniform and an idea of where the security cameras are so they won't capture my face. And once I make contact with Zelena, if she's got magic, she can probably help me hide my tracks."

"I don't like that last part," Ursula said at once. "Just because she has magic doesn't mean that she has the spells you want." She took a breath. "But unless I miss my guess," she continued, "in that storm cellar were all the ingredients I'd need for an invisibility spell."

Lily's eyes widened.

"Don't get too excited," the sea witch warned. "The spell will make you invisible. It won't mask the sound of your footsteps, muffle your sneezes, coughs, or hiccups, or neutralize the scent of your shampoo. If you're reading a floor map and someone else wants a look, they'll walk right into you. And anyone watching the security screens might feel it a cause for concern if an empty elevator randomly stops on specific floors. You won't be seen," she emphasized once more, "but that's it."

Lily mulled that over. "I can still work with that," she said slowly. "And even if I mess up, at worst, they'll know that _something_ screwy's going on. They won't know what. And by the time they get someone in who figures it out, I'll be long gone."

"I think it's worth the risk," Cruella said with uncharacteristic seriousness. "We do need to know more about this potential ally before we start sharing more with her than she's already gleaned. Lily's plan sounds like a good way to accomplish it."

Ursula nodded. "All right. And while I'm mixing up that brew, Lily, I'll still need the text of that note we're going to have the Apprentice write before we put him under the sleeping curse."

"I'll get right on it," Lily acknowledged with a triumphant smile.

* * *

Emma and the captain had gone, but Rumple remained in the shop, lost in thought. What _was_ Ursula doing here? When _had_ she arrived? And was she only interested in stealing some of his magical components, or was the captain not the only person with whom she wanted to settle old scores?

He never should have gone to Camelot. Had he left the gauntlet where it was, he wouldn't be in this predicament now. Ursula (and Cruella and Maleficent) would never have tried using Belle as leverage to acquire it. Belle would never have banished him. His magic would have kept his heart condition under control. He'd still _have_ his magic.

_But he probably wouldn't have his friends. Sooner or later, Belle would still have learned the truth about the dagger, discovered his lies and schemes and left him. His magic wouldn't have protected him indefinitely. And when the Darkness had finally tried to claim him, on his previous path, would anybody have cared to help him avoid that fate?_

Even before Emma and the others had used the hat to separate him from the Dark One, he'd had occasion to regret his past actions. At times, he'd even been remorseful. But he thought he was starting to see what Regina had meant when she'd talked about how every action she'd taken—Light or Dark—had led her to her son, and she couldn't wish she'd chosen otherwise, knowing the end result.

If he'd never been banished and near death, he doubted that he'd have made the connections he had now. He still might have struggled against his worser nature and managed to resist some of his darkest urges, but he wouldn't have had anything close to the support and encouragement he'd had these last months. And without that support, he doubted that he would have even bothered trying to do the right thing at long last, however little, however late.

He had his second chance now, bought at a higher price than he'd thought possible. And while he had remorse for many of the deeds he'd done that had necessitated that chance, like Regina, he couldn't say that he regretted the learning experience.

Except that his magic was currently unreliable and unpredictable, and if Ursula _was_ looking to pay him back for that whole debacle with the gauntlet, then…

Rumple moved swiftly to the windows to ascertain that the shades were fully drawn and that he'd locked the door when the others had left. That done, he went into the back room to assess the magical artifacts he currently had in his possession and to determine the defensive uses to which they might be placed.

* * *

"Are you sure you just want to stay here on your own?" Tia asked Uncle Bené at breakfast the next morning. "I mean, it's a gorgeous day and we still haven't seen everything there is to see around here."

Uncle Bené smiled congenially. "I'm afraid I do have work that needs attending to," he demurred. "My master laid a heavy charge on me when he sent me here, and I've neglected it long enough."

"But I thought you couldn't reach Merlin," Tony protested. And when Uncle Bené turned to him with a grave look, he shifted uncomfortably. "I mean, maybe he'd be okay with you taking some time off and relaxing," he amended.

"Believe it or not," Uncle Bené replied, "most of my duties _are_ relaxing. But just because they aren't onerous doesn't mean that they aren't to be done. Quite the contrary, actually. If I can't be trusted with light, simple tasks, how shall I ever expect him to entrust me with something more challenging." He shook his head, but he was smiling. "And just because I currently have no way to contact Merlin doesn't mean that he won't contact me when the time is right. And when he does, I had best have the work he assigned to me completed."

He shook his head. "No, the two of you go off and explore if you like. Feel free to fix yourselves something to eat from the contents of the kitchen, unless you'd prefer restaurant fare. I'll see you later."

* * *

Lily ducked into the ladies room on the hospital's main floor and checked the mirror, still not quite believing that the invisibility spell was holding. After all, when she looked down at her shoes or held up her hands, she could still see them.

Ursula hadn't seen it as an issue. "That's how it works," she'd explained. "You're inside the spell, so of course you see yourself as you truly are. From outside the spell, it's a different matter."

"Outside the spell?" Lily had repeated, half-wondering whether the sea witch was setting her up for some reason.

Ursula nodded. "Look in a mirror. Take a selfie. You won't have a reflection or an image to capture until the spell wears off. And that won't be for another twelve hours."

Lily looked at her watch now. She had ten hours, twenty-one minutes, and counting left. Plenty of time to find the way into the secure wing. She thought for a moment. Then she joined a small knot of medical personnel waiting by the elevators.

She didn't know if anyone was going her way, or if this was even the right elevator. But she was going to follow the first person who swiped a key-card before punching floor button and hope for the best. And she'd repeat that procedure as many times as she needed to, in front of as many elevators as she could locate, until she found her objective.

Or until ten hours elapsed. Whichever came first.

* * *

When Bené answered his doorbell, it to a woman he didn't quite recognize, but he smiled politely. "Good morning. Or," he frowned, "should it be afternoon? Forgive me. Time has a way of escaping me."

"You don't remember me," the woman said, smiling a bit.

Bené hesitated. There was definitely something familiar about her, something he ought to recollect. And then, he saw that she was discreetly tugging her sleeve upwards to reveal a distinctive mark on her wrist. "Why, Lilith!" he exclaimed in astonishment.

She gave a little laugh with a hint of a sob in it. "I finally made it!"

He smiled and moved aside. "Well, come in, come in, child. It's clear that we've much to discuss…"

* * *

Rumple held up the narrow object he'd found the evening before, tucked away in one of the drawers beneath the main display case on the shop floor. He'd forgotten he had it; hadn't thought about it since his return to Storybrooke. Funny, because when he'd first realized that his life depended on returning to Storybrooke, he'd thought of little else.

On its own, it was useless, of course. Even in the correct hands—which certainly weren't his—there was nothing that could be done with it alone. But if…

Placing the object in his pocket, he walked into the back office as quickly as he could. He didn't have any of his more esoteric magical ingredients here now, but he wouldn't need them for this. He reached for a tin of loose tea, measured out a half cup of the leaves into a fired clay pot, added water, and set it on a hot plate to boil. Next, he took out a wooden box with a hinged lid, raised the lid, and smiled. There might be nothing inherently magical about essential oils or acacia gum, but that didn't mean they didn't come in handy sometimes. He didn't think he'd tried anything like this in nearly two hundred years, but there had been a time when…

…Of course, back when Bae had been young, black tea had been a luxury he'd seldom had coin for. Then, he had opted for berry juice instead—a fine improvement over the charcoal Bae had frequently used for his drawings. However, at present, he didn't have berries at hand and he did have tea. And thyme oil. And… And hopefully, Emma's theory wasn't as farfetched as he'd once believed it to be.

He let the tea leaves boil a full fifteen minutes before he removed the pot from the heat, strained the tea into a bowl, and whisked in the acacia gum. Once the mixture cooled, he transferred it to a small jar and added the thyme oil. Then, wondering whether this was all for naught, he lit a candle and, with the aid of a pair of tweezers—the same he'd used to remove Aggie's splinter the other day—he held a razor blade in the flame for a moment to sterilize it.

In his mind, he seemed to hear Emma ask once more, " _Why would he need a_ light _savior, if…?_ "

He sucked in his breath. And then, he nicked his finger with the blade and let a single drop of blood fall into the ink he'd just blended.

For the briefest of instants, the liquid glowed with the same golden light that he was growing accustomed to seeing in the threads he spun. It went dark again at once, but Rumple knew what he'd observed and a wondering smile came to his face as he mentally chalked another point to Emma's account.

If Henry truly didn't wish to take up the Author's mantle, Rumple would do his best to respect that choice. But both quill and ink were now ready and available in the event that his grandson would change his mind.

* * *

"Sit down, child," Bené said warmly, ushering Ursula/Lily into the kitchen. "Forgive me," he said, gathering papers and parchments into a messy pile to clear a space at the table. "I wasn't expecting company. Some tea, perhaps?"

Ursula smiled. "I… actually brought cake," she said, holding up the small cardboard box. The cake inside was only six inches in diameter; Lily had realized that, if they wanted to be certain not to accidentally get the truth serum into the top layer, the knife would only be able to slice into it once. Otherwise, there was a near-certainty that some of the crumbs from the bottom layer would cling to the blade and remain in the top layer, should the knife cut down again. This way, the cake could be split in two at one stroke. Ursula tugged at the string carefully. "Hope you like blackberry jam and pineapple."

Bené raised his eyebrows. "That wouldn't be caramel frosting?" he asked hopefully.

Ursula laughed. "Here. While you're making the tea, I'll do the honors."

"As you wish," Bené agreed, fetching two plates from the sideboard. "So, tell me what you've been doing with yourself, child. I rather thought we'd meet again, though I believed it would be sooner."

"Yeah, about that," Ursula nodded, taking the knife she'd brought with her and deftly slicing the cake into two roughly-equal pieces. "I guess it's my own fault. I spent so much time procrastinating that, by the time I got to the aquarium, well…" She shrugged. "Ursula wasn't there anymore and nobody seemed to know how to track her down."

Bené frowned. "Truly?" he asked, sounding somewhat surprised.

Ursula shrugged. "I guess, after so long, I should've expected it. But I went and tracked down those books you mentioned and found the spell and… here I am."

"Indeed." He didn't say anything further as he waited for the tea to boil, but his disturbed expression remained. For a few moments, Ursula wondered whether she'd slipped up somehow. Maybe the Apprentice was thinking about how Lily shouldn't have known to inscribe the spell onto vellum, but that was pretty basic stuff that even a bargain-basement tarot reader in the East Village would know. Probably in another book at that conjuring arts center… No, she remembered. Not only was that place by appointment only, but you also had to list the books you wanted to look at ahead of time. Lily wouldn't have known where to look up what she needed. _She found a couple of books on the occult at The Strand or some other used bookstore. Even a psychic can't predict what sort of stuff turns up there. Perfect._

She looked up, jerked out of her thoughts, when the Apprentice set a cup of tea down before her. "Thank you," she said, picking up her fork and delicately slicing off a bit from the top of the cake that was more frosting than anything else.

"Perhaps, it's you I should be thanking. I confess I've a bit of fondness for pineapple," he admitted as he sank the side of his fork into the cake. The bottom layer, Ursula noted with satisfaction.

"If I'd known that, I would've used fresh instead of canned," she replied.

"Really," the Apprentice said, "it matters little." He smiled. "This is really quite excellent."

"I'm glad you like it," Ursula said, casting her eyes demurely downward.

"Oh, yes. You see, in the realm from which I hail, there are no pineapples and cinnamon is hard to come by. Which," he continued, "is really a pity, given the exquisite flavors of each."

"So, you aren't from here," Ursula said.

The Apprentice blinked. "Uh… no. No, I'm not. How did you find me, Lilith?" he asked, sounding somewhat less self-assured than he had a moment earlier.

"I… recognized you the other day," Ursula said.

"So, you didn't just arrive?"

Ursula shook her head. "No, I got here a few days ago. I just... wasn't sure how to go about introducing myself, I guess. I suppose you must have been here for some time," she added.

"Yes, I have," the Apprentice said. "Not only here, of course," he continued. "I've had occasion to be out in the world. And in other realms as well."

"Like the one you're from? Uh… what was that one again?"

"Camelot?" The Apprentice shook his head. "I haven't been back there in… uh… did I tell you that—?"

"You're from _Camelot_!" Ursula exclaimed. "Really? That's a real place?"

"Yes, it is," the Apprentice said. "And there are times when I do miss it. When I was a boy, I never dreamed I'd leave it so far behind. Truly, no matter how many realms I cross into, no matter how much time passes, I never give up hope that I'll set foot on its soil again one day. But until Merlin bids me return, I fear that hope will be denied me…"

"How long have you been in Storybrooke?" Ursula asked.

"I've been here for several months," the Apprentice replied. "I mean, I've been here off and on, over the years, you understand, but—"

"How did Snow White and Prince Charming get so chummy with Regina?" Ursula demanded in tones rather more strident than she'd been using until now.

"They put aside their differences in Neverland when young Henry was taken captive."

"Young Henry?"

"Yes," the Apprentice smiled happily. "He's Emma Swan's son, you know, but she gave him up at birth and Regina—she used to be the Evil Queen, of course, but she isn't now—adopted him and ten years later, he traveled to Boston in search of Emma and…"

Ursula settled back in her seat with a self-satisfied smirk. "Go on," she encouraged. "Tell me _everything_ …"

 


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks to the Spark Notes website for helping me name a minor character. Washington (along with Warren, Williams, and Geever) is a hospital aide in Ken Kesey's _One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest_.

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Ursula locked the cellar door with a worried frown. The Apprentice had indeed proven to be a fountain of information. Ursula now had a fairly good idea of how things currently stood in Storybrooke, the state of Rumpelstiltskin's power—and it really did seem as though they could safely speak his name now—and a number of other things. But she still had one burning question that needed answering. And depending on the answer she received, perhaps there would be more.

Lily's note wasn't going to work now, she realized. The Apprentice wasn't living here alone at the moment and those two companions of his might be back at any time. If they discovered him too quickly, Ursula might never be able to find out what she needed to know. So. Since the serum had made the old man more amenable than usual to suggestion, she'd suggested he accompany her to the cellar, where she'd offered him a drink of water laced with the sleeping curse potion in Cruella's earrings. _Earring_ , rather; it had only needed one dose. And now, he would sleep indefinitely and it would be some time before anyone learned his whereabouts. Perfect.

She looked around and her gaze fell on the pile of papers he'd cleared from the table earlier. _Handwritten_ papers. Ursula smiled. She couldn't leave Lily's note, but she could leave _a_ note.

She concentrated for a moment. Then she waved her hand over a blank sheet. A puff of blue smoke billowed and spread over the page. When it cleared, a message appeared in penmanship identical to that which was manifest on the other papers.

_I'm afraid that something has come up that requires my attention. I can't say how long I'll be away, so it's best that you not anticipate my return. I hope that we might be reunited once this matter is resolved. Until then, farewell._

She frowned for a moment, wishing that she knew the old man's proper name. The note really ought to have a signature. But wishing generally didn't hold much water for folk like her. She set the note on the table where it could easily be spotted.

Before she left, she made certain to flush the remains of the cake down the toilet and wash the dishes, removing as many traces of her presence as she could find on her way out.

* * *

In the now-empty elevator, Lily looked at the key panel and ground her teeth in frustration. She had managed to find the location the secure wing; it was in the sub-basement, but for access, she needed a steel key inserted into a lock in the elevator panel, not a key-card. That was bad news. In her experience, key-cards were generally worn in plain sight, clipped to clothing or lanyards. Keys were worn on rings, tucked into pockets, often with other items. And if there was more than one key on that ring, she would need time to try each one.

And the security cameras were everywhere. She made a mental note to ask Ursula whether they'd pick up a key being turned in a lock if the holder was invisible. She rather thought they wouldn't; her clothing had become invisible together with her person, as had the contents of her pockets. Surely that invisibility would extend to whatever she was holding. But the lock resembled a vertical slot. If she were to insert a key and turn it, the slot would go horizontal. Maybe the cameras weren't sharp enough to see it. Maybe they weren't angled right. But maybe they were.

The door slid open and four people stepped inside, two in blue scrubs, one in a blazer of darker blue and a gray skirt, and one in a white coat. Lily pressed silently into one of the rear corners and hoped that none of the other passengers in the car would have the same idea.

"Hold, please!" a breathless voice called over the sound of rubber-soled shoes running on epoxy flooring. The man in the scrubs stuck his hand in front of the door, keeping it from closing. A moment later, a blonde woman in the same blazer and skirt as one of the other occupants of the car came dashing up. "Thanks!" the newcomer gasped, stepping inside. She looked around at the other passengers and smiled nervously at the woman wearing similar attire. "Hello, Blue."

"Green," the woman returned and Lily marveled at how a voice could somehow manage to sound both warm and cold at the same time. "You're late."

The other woman wilted slightly. "Sorry?"

'Blue' sniffed. "Don't let it happen again."

The blonde nodded. "Yes, Blue."

Unseen by the others, Lily frowned. Were those surnames, code-names, or something else entirely? She didn't for a moment believe them to be nicknames; while the blonde might be the type to use them, the snooty one sure as heck wasn't. The other occupants of the car didn't seem fazed by the exchange, she noticed. Maybe Ursula or Cruella could shed some light later.

And then Lily's breath caught as 'Blue' pulled a small key out of her pocket and inserted it into the lock that she'd been gnashing her teeth over moments earlier. Carefully, she sidled out of her corner, trying to position herself so that she could exit without bumping into anyone.

"Is she improving at all?" 'Green' asked.

'Blue' sniffed again as the car began to descend—much to the annoyance of the other three occupants. "That's scarcely your concern."

"I only meant… maybe I could help."

The car came to a halt and the doors opened silently. "I rather doubt that," 'Blue' said, stepping out.

Lily darted after her, just narrowly avoiding jostling one of the scrubs-wearers as she passed.

Just before the doors closed again, she heard 'Green' calling, "I do have experience, you know!"

* * *

"So," Astrid said seriously, "then what happened?"

Belle had been glad to find her waiting in the lobby of the kickboxing gym this morning. While the workout had improved her mood, she was still feeling upset and it was good to have someone with whom she could unburden herself. They were sitting in the diner now, Belle enjoying a chai tea and Astrid, a strawberry milkshake, as Belle continued. "I was starting to doze off despite myself, but I heard his key in the lock around half-past midnight. I was going to ask him what they'd wanted, but he seemed to be…" she winced, "well… sneaking about. Like he used to," she added miserably. "I didn't want it to look like I didn't trust him, so I stayed in my room and pretended to be asleep."

" _Do_ you trust him?" Astrid asked.

Belle hesitated. "I-I want to. I'm trying… w-we're both trying to make a real go of things. Only, at times like this, I wonder if he's slipping back into old habits. But I can't say anything about it, because I don't want to hurt him and I _do_ want to trust him, but I don't know if…"

Astrid nodded. "At least, in this case, there's a reasonable explanation for his tiptoeing about, though." Belle blinked and the fairy broke into a huge smile. "It was after midnight and you were in your room with the door closed! Suppose it had been you coming home late and you'd found everything quiet and all the lights off at half-past twelve!"

Belle's eyes widened for a moment. Then she smiled ruefully. "I… guess I might have thought Rumple was asleep and tried not to wake him. And, I suppose that if he'd just been lying in bed, hearing me moving about, it… it could have sounded like I was being sneaky. But…" She caught herself. "Never mind. If he thought I was asleep, he wouldn't have wanted to knock on my door to check for fear of waking me." She shook her head. "I feel so silly."

"Don't," Astrid replied. "You can't help where your mind goes, especially with everything that's happened in the past. But maybe try to think about whether there's another possible explanation." She turned aside. "If I'd done that with Leroy after the curse broke, maybe we'd have gone back together a lot sooner. But I was hurt and he was scared and…" She shook her head. "Maybe I just didn't want to find out how… involved Blue had been in his dumping me back in the Enchanted Forest. Maybe it was just easier for me to believe what everyone was telling me. That dwarfs couldn't love and I was a fool for thinking otherwise." She shook her head. "It's like flying against the wind; even when you manage it, it can just get so _exhausting_ there's a part of you wonders if it's worth it." She smiled again. "With Leroy, it so is, but it took me some time until we both recognized it."

Belle took a gulp of her rapidly-cooling tea and set the cup back down. "Tell me about it," she murmured with feeling.

* * *

For the first time in her recollection, the Blue Fairy found herself wishing that her shoes had heels that could clack out her irritation as she made her way down the long corridor. She couldn't say exactly why she was upset. To be certain, she was disappointed that her efforts with Zelena appeared to have hit a standstill. She'd been beginning to believe that she'd actually broken through the walls of bitterness and mockery that the witch had erected, been starting to get to the woman below…

_Been on the cusp of reforming her own villain._

How hard could the task truly be, anyway? Green—one of the lowest-ranking, flightiest, most heedless novices had managed it. Surely the instructor was not inferior to the pupil.

And yet, when Blue had presented the witch with several of the pastoral prints she'd so carefully selected from the convent's stores, Zelena had regarded them quizzically for a moment. And then, with an almost giddy smile, she'd torn each one in two.

Blue had been at a loss. Had the witch been looking for a reaction? Was this just some fit of pique brought on by pregnancy hormones? Was she trying to drive her away? Or was this really some convoluted cry for help?

Maybe Green _would_ have some ideas.

But confiding in Green would mean admitting her uncertainty. And the other members of her order were already losing faith in her. If word got out that she didn't know how to handle a situation—a situation, she realized with a pang, that she'd often insisted that her subordinates were more than equipped to handle—then it would just be a matter of time before they decided that she wasn't the best person to lead them. And when the next crisis hit, whoever they chose in her stead would lead the order blithely to disaster. She couldn't allow that to happen. Which meant that she simply had to find a way to get through to Zelena by herself.

All at once, Blue paused. Was that another set of footfalls behind her? A frown came to her face. They'd gone silent. With a mental shrug, she continued on her way. There they were again! She whirled about to face her follower, but there was nobody there. Her eyes narrowed and she scanned the corridor intently, but neither her eyes nor her magic could detect the slightest hint of fairy dust. Maybe it _had_ just been her imagination.

After a moment, she turned back and continued on her way.

Pressed against the corridor wall, Lily remembered Ursula's warning and managed not to sigh her relief. She mentally counted to ten and fell into step behind Blue once more, this time hanging back a bit further, so as not to alert the woman to her presence.

* * *

Regina was preparing the agenda for the next council meeting and trying to decide where Storybrooke College's request to have several acres of parkland rezoned for on-campus housing ought to fit in. To her mind, the item shouldn't be on the agenda at all. The town wasn't _that_ big and there was no reason why the college needed that many housing units. Then she thought about her own adolescence and admitted to herself with a rueful smile that, had she had the option of dwelling away from her mother for months at a time, she would have seized it gladly.

Maybe it wasn't such a terrible idea. And if it was, then in all likelihood, the council would vote it down.

A polite rap on her open office door broke into her musings and she looked up with a smile. "Well, this is a surprise, seeing you here," she greeted the Apprentice.

The old man did not return her smile. "I'm afraid I need to speak with you regarding a matter of some urgency," he said.

Regina's eyebrows shot up, but she kept her tone pleasant as she beckoned him to a chair. "Of course," she said. "How can I help you?"

The Apprentice's brow furrowed. "Forgive me, please, but I must ask. What are the measures that you've taken to protect Rumpelstiltskin's heart?"

Regina blinked. "I thought you felt that it was better if you didn't know," she said slowly.

"I did," the Apprentice nodded. "Unfortunately, circumstances have changed and I've had to reconsider. If there is any way that it could fall into the wrong hands, the consequences would be disastrous."

Regina took a breath. "Well, there's no chance of that happening now," she informed him tartly. "I used a blood magic lock, along with a little bit of extra insurance…"

* * *

Belle stared at the object on the kitchen table with a mixture of distaste and disbelief. "You want me to carry a gun," she stated.

Rumple pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. "My magic is too unreliable to protect you right now. And if the sea witch _is_ in town, it's a wise precaution." He shook his head. "Don't think I'm not hoping that Jones is either trying to delude us or being deluded himself. But I can't fathom his motive if it's the former. And if it's the latter," his expression was still troubled, "well, it might be someone even more formidable. At any rate, Belle, I want you to keep that with you for now. For my peace of mind, at least."

Belle looked as though she wanted to refuse, but she reached for the holstered weapon, picked it up with the same level of enthusiasm she might have reserved for a lizard or a worm, and set about fastening the belt about her waist.

"Here," Rumple came about the table to stand beside her. "If you'll allow me."

Belle gave him an uneasy smile. "You… uh… don't need an excuse to lay hands on me, you know," she joked weakly.

Rumple's chuckle was strained, but his smile was genuine as he drew the strap through the buckle. "You've no idea how relieved I am to hear that," he murmured, as he finished the operation. He took a step backwards, then clapped one hand to each of her shoulders, and drew her to him. "Or how relieved I am to know that you'll have some measure of protection, should Ursula attempt to use you to get to me."

Belle swallowed hard. "I know," she admitted. "And for all the progress I've been making with my kickboxing, I guess this is a more reliable option. I just don't feel… comfortable… carrying it with me."

"But you will?" Rumple asked earnestly, and Belle winced as she heard the plea in his voice.

She gave him a reluctant nod and forced herself to keep smiling. "I will."

His embrace tightened about her and she rested her head on his shoulder and tried not to be conscious of the weight of the gun on her hip.

* * *

The mer-lad strummed softly on the zither and Poseidon tried to relax. It wasn't working. The music was sweet and soothing, but the king of the sea was thinking of his wife and daughter. Both lost to him now—Amphitrite to death and Ursula to worse. The surface world had claimed them both.

"Stop playing," he commanded the youth and he saw nimble fingers pause in mid-strum. He sighed and motioned to the musician once more. "Leave me."

The mer-lad bowed and withdrew, taking the zither with him. Poseidon sank back against the seagrass cushions of his throne and rested his head in his hands. He couldn't listen to music now, not when the instruments themselves had been objects that Amphitrite had procured on her forays above.

 _"I just wanted to show you,"_ she'd said, _"that the surface dwellers are capable of great beauty, too."_

He'd smiled indulgently when she'd laid on the spells to keep sea-water from damaging the wood and warping the strings. He'd even added a fillip of his own, so that the music could be heard under water and sound as it did on the surface. She'd been so happy then. Ursula had been enthralled. And while he himself possessed no musical talent, he'd been nearly as enchanted by his wife and daughter's performances as the sailors above would have been.

He'd tried to forget that enchantment when he'd lost Amphitrite. He'd tried to forget his thirst for vengeance when he'd lost Ursula. And now, he was trying to forget his sorrow anew by listening to a musician play a song his daughter had once sung on an instrument his wife carried here. He was a fool.

He'd been a fool for too long.

But perhaps, there was still a chance to reverse the tide, change the current, and set things right.

He lifted the turritella shell beside his throne to his lips and blew a series of shrill blasts. Moments later, a mer-man wearing the breastplate and armlet of his elite guard swam into the throne room and genuflected respectfully. "My king has summoned me?"

Poseidon nodded. "Your king has indeed. I've a task for you, captain." He opened the cabinet beside his throne and withdrew a massive pearl, easily twice the size of a large sea urchin. He passed his hand three times over the sphere and its surface cleared to reveal the image of a large sailing ship, a 'sloop of war' cresting a wave. They looked down on its decks as though from a great height. As the stern lifted, both mer-men could read the words "Jolly Roger" painted aft. "I want this ship found," he said grimly. "And its commander," he waved his hand again and the ship vanished, to be replaced by a dark-haired haired man with a neatly-trimmed beard, "brought to me."

"It shall be done, my liege," the captain saluted. "Have I your permission to depart?"

Poseidon nodded and waved his hand in dismissal. "Oh, captain?"

The mer-man, already swimming for the exit, turned back. "My liege?"

"The commander is not to be arrested or otherwise treated as a criminal. Invite him to the palace as you would an honored guest." His jaw hardened. "But don't take 'no' for an answer."

* * *

Zelena rolled her eyes when the Blue Fairy entered her cell. "Well, well," she drawled. "What new tactic are we trying today, I wonder? Macramé? Basket weaving?" She laughed bitterly when the other woman flushed. "Did I guess right?" she asked mockingly.

The fairy sighed. "I truly don't understand you," she murmured. "You claim to be bored and yet you scorn virtually every activity I suggest to you. Your sole companion is a chicken—"

Billina cackled at that and Zelena smirked. "You say that as though it's a bad thing," she remarked. "Billina's much more congenial company than some people I could mention."

The fairy raised her eyes heavenwards and sighed. "What exactly is it you'd like?" she demanded.

Zelena blinked. "Well, I wouldn't say 'no' to a bit of exercise," she said tartly. "Even prisoners on death row get an hour in the yard."

Blue shook her head. "That's not something I'm able to grant you," she said primly. "Though I might be able to arrange for you to have a video monitor and some fitness instruction cassettes."

"Cassettes?" Zelena snorted. "My, it's nice to see this place keeping step with the outside world. Tell me, will the monitor be in black-and-white or have you learned about Technicolor yet?"

"Oh!"

For a moment, Zelena thought that the fairy was about to slap her, but then Blue's composure reasserted itself. "I suppose I'll be back when you're more amenable to carrying on a civil conversation."

"Yes, let's work around the pregnancy hormones, shall we?"

Billina clucked again, a loud "Kut-kut-kut, ka-daw-kut! Kut-kut-kut, ka-daw-kut!" and Zelena sprang from her cot to the straw nest with a glad cry.

"That's a good girl," she cooed, gently stroking the yellow hen. "Thank you, beautiful one. Your timing couldn't be more perfect."

"Her timing?" Blue repeated with a supercilious smile.

Zelena looked up, her eyes narrowing. "Why yes," she returned pleasantly. Then she reached beneath the hen, drew forth a small white oval object and, in one swift motion, hurled it at the fairy.

The egg broke on impact, releasing its slimy contents just above Blue's left temple. As the fairy stifled a shriek, the mess slid slowly downwards.

"They do say that egg is good for adding shine to one's hair," Zelena mused, her eyes bright and almost innocent. "You really ought to thank me."

Something incoherent spewed out from Blue's mouth and the fairy turned on her heel and fled, locking the door behind her.

Zelena laughed.

And then, the sliding panel in her cell door slid back and a relieved voice proclaimed, "I didn't think she was going to leave!"

Zelena stopped laughing abruptly. "Who's there?" she demanded. The voice was familiar, but just barely. She got up and moved over to the slot, but saw nobody in the corridor. "Show yourself!"

"I can't," the voice replied. "The spell won't wear off for another nine hours or so. It was the only way Ursula could get me in to see you."

Zelena's eyes widened. "Lily?"

"In the not-so-visible flesh."

"Oh, my!" Zelena laughed again, not out of mockery, but pleasure. "Well! I'd just about despaired of the possibility of intelligent conversation in this place. I'm afraid I can't offer you any tea, but will you stay a while?"

There was a loud sigh. "Well, I guess I'm here in the first place because I can't have any tea, so I'm not exactly missing out…"

* * *

Cruella was dozing when Ursula returned to the farmhouse, and Lily wasn't back yet. Which was just as well. She really shouldn't have used that glamor spell so soon after casting the invisibility spell on Lily. All magic came with a price and right now, Ursula had a splitting headache and a lethargy that made her every step feel as though she'd been clapped in leg irons.

_And if their plans fell through and the heroes in this town were able to stop them, she might well find herself wearing them for real._

She could have waited a day or two before assuming the Apprentice's guise. He wasn't likely to be missed for some time. She'd been so flush with excitement after learning everything he'd had to tell her, so eager to put her new knowledge into action. But there had still been one piece of the puzzle that he hadn't been able to disclose.

_"So, there's no more Dark One?" she'd demanded. She'd shed the wide-eyed ingenuous demeanor as soon as she'd realized that the potion had worked. "No way to create one?"_

_And the Apprentice had shaken his head. "There is a way," he'd corrected. "While Rumpelstiltskin is no longer the Dark One, the half of his heart that was absent when his Darkness was cleft from him still retains its previous state. And if someone were to crush that half, then that Darkness freed would overwhelm its liberator and restore itself anew."_

_"And where is that half now?"_

_"I don't know."_

_Ursula frowned. "Truly? You've no idea?"_

_She read something of a struggle in the old man's eyes for a moment and wondered whether she ought to suggest he take another bit of the cake on his plate. The moment passed. "None. I specifically directed Regina not to tell me," he replied with a pleased smile on his face._

_"Regina?" Ursula asked sharply. "What does she have to do with this?"_

_"Why," the Apprentice said, "it was she who had the other half of his heart in her possession. And after Rumpelstiltskin was freed of his curse, she brought it to me to ask what to do with it. I counseled her to take whatever precautions she thought were warranted and keep them to herself. You see," he said with that same pleased smile, "I realized that if I didn't know the location of the heart or the safeguards woven about it, then I wouldn't be able to reveal anything to anyone attempting to force the answers from me."_

_For one instant, Ursula had wished that her tentacles could produce venom like those of the Portuguese men-of-war jellyfish she'd tended at the aquarium. Instead, she'd simply have to throttle the man, as she'd threatened to do to Hook previously. She could have. She still might. But if his body were to surface at the wrong time, it might scuttle all their schemes. The sleeping curse was safer; these heroes clearly understood all about guilty consciences and desperate choices. Even if they found him under the curse, they'd read the note and believe his condition was self-inflicted. They'd never believe anything of the kind if they found him dead with bruising about his neck. And if Hook were to reveal her presence here, then things would really hit the maelstrom._

_She poured out two cups of tea and surreptitiously emptied the contents of one of Cruella's earrings into one of them. "You look a bit parched," she said, keeping her tone pleasant. "Tea?" Her eyes narrowed. "Actually, perhaps a change of scenery would be helpful. What's through that door?"_

_The Apprentice blinked. "Why, the cellar, of course," he replied._

_Ursula smiled. "I'd love to see what's down there," she said rising to her feet. "After you."_

__

She could have waited before seeking out Regina. But if anyone were to discover the Apprentice sooner than intended, then she would have missed the opportunity. Taking on his appearance and paying a call to the mayor's office had been the best idea she could come up with on short notice. And the gamble had paid off. Clever and savvy though Regina was, at times, she could be downright gullible. She'd told Ursula everything that the sea witch had needed to know. Now, it was just a question of figuring out what to do with the information.

And she knew that she'd figure things out better if she allowed herself some time to recover from the spells she'd been casting so recently. And if she took a couple of aspirin for her pounding head.

* * *

Lily passed the better part of an hour talking with Zelena. The witch was happy to fill her in on the details behind her current incarceration. Lily knew a thing or two about never belonging anywhere and about having her natural aptitudes go unappreciated by those about her. In fact, it wasn't until she heard footsteps approaching from behind that she remembered that she was standing in a hallway in the secure wing, talking to someone who wasn't supposed to have visitors.

"Someone's coming," she whispered. "Quiet!"

She turned to see someone in scrubs drawing nearer. An orderly, she thought. And then, almost at once, she reminded herself that the days when one could safely assume that all orderlies were male and all nurses female were long past. The stranger might well be either. Or a doctor, for that matter; was it only on TV that all hospital doctors sported white coats and stethoscopes, unless in surgery, or might they go about in scrubs as well? She shrank against the cell door to let the man—whatever his position here—pass by.

Instead, his face settled into a frown and his hand reached toward her throat!

Startled, Lily's reflexes took over and she twisted away.

And the man reached for the knob on the sliding piece that fit over the slot in Zelena's door and drew it shut. Then he pulled out a walkie-talkie. "Washington here," he said. "I've just closed the food pass. Sorry about that, ma'am; I guess I did leave it open."

"It happens," a second voice crackled over the speaker. "Provided it doesn't happen again, I don't see a need for further disciplinary action. You can return to your other duties."

"Yes, ma'am."

As he moved off, Lily breathed a sigh of relief. She hadn't been spotted. He hadn't been trying to attack her. And, thankfully, she'd neither cried out nor tried to assault him. Her cover was still intact. But maybe she'd pushed her luck enough for one day.

"Zelena?" she called softly, "could you… uh… tap once if you can still hear me?"

She waited. And a moment later, she heard a perfunctory rap on the door.

"Okay," she said. "Okay. So it's not soundproof. That's good. It means we can sort of talk without me opening that window."

"True," Zelena returned pleasantly, "but I think we'd better keep our conversations shorter in future. You should probably leave now."

"Yeah," Lily agreed. "I'll go wait by the elevator. Hopefully, somebody will use it before my spell wears off."

"Are you planning to return soon?" Zelena asked. Lily knew that tone of voice. Nonchalant on the surface, but somewhere beneath the doesn't-matter-to-me-either-way attitude was a buried plea. And no wonder. If Zelena was down here in solitary with nobody to talk to apart from that prissy-sounding Blue, she had to be starved for conversation.

"I'll try," she murmured.

There was a slight pause. "Thank you."

It was nearly a full forty-five minutes' wait before someone—'Washington', as it turned out—pressed the button to summon the elevator so that she could escape to the upper levels unnoticed.

* * *

Cruella woke up as Lily and Ursula were setting the table for supper. The invisibility spell was still in force, but neither of the two older women commented on the 'floating' plates and cutlery.

Finally, after they were done eating, Ursula said, "I think we ought to go for a bit of a drive. Let's head for the car."

* * *

"So," Cruella said, "are we driving somewhere, dahling? Or just talking?"

Ursula thought about it. "Talk first," she said finally. "And then we'll see."

"What did you find out?" Lily interrupted. Then, "Ow!"

"Pins and needles in your extremities?" Ursula asked. "The spell's starting to wear off, then. Good. And to answer your question…" She quickly filled them in on what she'd learned from the Apprentice.

"So the Dark One _has_ lost his magic," Cruella said speculatively.

"That makes things easier, right?" Lily asked.

Ursula nodded. "Marginally, yes. But just going by present company, not having magic can't be confused with not being dangerous. At any rate, once I took on his form, I called on Regina. And, as one might expect, she's put a few safeguards around—I guess it's safe to say it then—Rumpelstiltskin's heart." Even so, she looked about nervously, as though she expected him to materialize in the car with a crazed giggle.

"Which are?" Lily asked.

Ursula hesitated. "Without getting into too long an explanation, she used something called a blood magic lock. Only a member of her family—someone with whom she shares a blood connection—can retrieve it. But she added an extra fillip to it. Rumpelst— _Rumple's_ ," she amended decisively, "heart can't be accessed by anyone but a total innocent. Not even Regina herself." She sighed. "She told me she didn't want to succumb to temptation. Or allow herself to be put in a position where she could be coerced into surrendering the heart."

"Wait," Lily said. "By 'total innocent'… You don't mean 'never charged or convicted of a crime,' do you?"

Ursula shook her head. "No. I mean someone who has never, not even once, deliberately committed a wicked act. Never called another child a cruel nickname or grabbed a toy or—"

"You mean," Cruella shuddered, "a _child_ of Regina's blood."

"One who hasn't yet reached the 'terrible twos', I'd venture to guess," Ursula nodded.

"So Regina's kid is too old," Lily said.

"Yes," Ursula nodded, "but he's also not of her blood. She adopted him as an infant, remember."

"So there's no way to get to the heart?" Lily asked.

Ursula smiled. "Well, not at the moment," she said slowly. "But even if we were to sit back and let nature take its course, that would change in… oh, I'd say about seven or eight months. However, I'd lay good gold that with the ingredients in the storm cellar, I can conjure up something that might push that date forward. Just a smidgeon…"


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: According to Grembert0's "Roaring 20's" Tripod site, "darb" is slang for "a great person or thing; example 'That movie was darb!'" Hopefully, I'm using it right.

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

For a moment, there was silence in the car. Then, in response to the blank look on Cruella's face (Lily's was still invisible), Ursula said, "According to the Apprentice, the woman whose house we're currently occupying? That's Regina's half-sister."

There was a sudden intake of breath from the back seat. "And she's pregnant."

Cruella sniffed. "It would seem that children do have their uses on occasion."

"Wait," Lily said. "How does that work exactly? I mean, I don't know a whole heck of a lot about babies, but I don't think a newborn is going to be able to grab anything other than a finger—if someone puts it in their hand. How do you think we're going to get a baby to grab a heart? Or half a heart—I still can't believe there's a guy walking around like that."

"Two guys and a gal, actually," Ursula said. "Snow White and Prince Charming are in similar circumstances." She shrugged. "But to answer your question, we don't need the infant to grab the heart. All we need to do is get it to touch the protection field with bare skin. It doesn't need to be a conscious or voluntary action. Just unswaddle the baby, put its hand on the spell, and the heart will be accessible.

"And then what?" Cruella asked.

Ursula smiled. "Then, ladies, oh ladies, we're back in business!"

* * *

"We're back!" Tia called, pushing the door to Uncle Bené's house. "I wish you'd told us that there were cross-country trails in the woods; we'd've brought skis."

"Speak for yourself," Tony laughed. "I haven't been on those things since Dayani and I took that vacation in Geilo. I'm so out of practice, I'd have to levitate to stay upright."

"Seems like you were saying you're out of practice with levitation, too," Tia remarked with a wry smile.

"Not as badly," Tony returned, laughing again, as they pulled off their boots and made their way to the living room.

The room was empty. "Uncle Bené?" Tony turned to his sister. "I guess he must have gone out."

"He said he had work to do," Tia protested, shaking her head. "He wouldn't just up and leave; you know how he gets."

"Yeah. Unless he runs out of tea or biscuits. Or…" He stopped, seeing the single sheet of paper on the table. "Huh," he said, skimming it. He handed it to Tia.

"Something came up?" she said dubiously.

"I guess."

Tia's eyebrows came together in a worried frown. "If he had to leave that quickly, he wouldn't have tidied up before he left. You know if it were that important, he'd just grab what he needed and run."

"Unless he needed everything he was working on," Tony suggested.

"Maybe."

"Wait." Tony crossed quickly to a wooden side table and looked at the messy stack of papers that appeared to have been casually dropped there. "Were these here when we went out or are they what he had on the other table?"

"I don't remember if there was anything there before," Tia replied after a moment's thought. "And we didn't get a good look at what he was working on anyway. Or at least, I didn't."

"Me either. But I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation. It doesn't mean anything happened to him."

Tia nodded. "I know. But I've just got this feeling…"

Her brother knew what that meant. Unfortunately, he also knew that it would take some time before she had more than just that feeling. Pushing her for more details would be counter-productive. As would letting her see that he was starting to get worried too. Her insights came best when she was relaxed and she was already far from that. His jumpiness would only make things worse. So he put a hand on Tia's shoulder and smiled in a way he hoped was reassuring. "You'll work it out," he assured her. "Meanwhile, even if Uncle Bené isn't here, you know he'd want us to meditate."

Tia nodded again, even as she gave him a tiny smile in return. "I know what you're trying to do," she murmured.

Tony shrugged. "Good thing I'm not trying to put anything over on you, then. Your seer talents work best when you're calm. Meditation almost always makes you calm. And even if it didn't, we can both use the practice, right?"

This time, Tia's smile was a bit broader. "Right." She paused. "When did you get this smart?" she asked, poking her elbow into his ribs.

Tony shrugged. "To hear Carey tell it? After I met Dayani."

Tia laughed.

* * *

Rumple found the gun in the end table drawer, right where it normally was and sighed. Belle might not have kept arguing about carrying it, but she hadn't taken it with her to the library either. Stubbornness, he reflected, was a double-edged sword.

Had Belle not persisted in seeing the good in him when he hadn't believed he had any left himself, she would never have broken through to him in the Enchanted Forest. Had she not continued to believe in their love, even when he'd given up on it, they wouldn't be together now. And had she been less convinced of the rightness of her actions, she'd probably be back in her father's house right now, smiling sadly while he told her how pleased he was that she'd finally recognized her husband for the monster he'd always been.

Most of the time, Rumple loved her stubbornness. He was in awe of her stubbornness. He was even, on occasion, amused by her stubbornness. And then there were times like these, where he just wanted to tear out his hair in frustration at her stubbornness.

He couldn't rely on magic to protect her anymore. And as much as he supported her forays into self-defense, her few weeks of kickboxing lessons wouldn't be much use against most opponents, armed or otherwise. The gun was her best chance. And she was foolishly leaving it behind.

Somehow, he had to impress on her the need to keep the weapon with her at all times. Let her know that he was still a coward and a worrier, but let her be safe.

Let her have some credible means of defense, should Ursula try capturing her again to get to him.

Let her understand the danger she was in and take the necessary precautions.

And, he thought, as he unconsciously tore out a hangnail and ignored the small trickle of blood that followed, let his worries _be_ unfounded in the end. He'd happily endure decades—no, _centuries_ —of I-told-you-so's, just so long as nothing happened to her.

* * *

Tiny shook his head apologetically. "I can't," he mumbled.

Killian raised an eyebrow. "Can't?" he repeated. "Why not? If it's a question of gold or—"

"It's not," the diminutive giant interrupted. He looked from the pirate to the savior, his eyes pleading.

Emma put a hand on Killian's shoulder. "Why not, Tiny?" she asked gently.

Tiny sighed. "I don't think curse casting is good for cultivation," he said. "Not that the Dark Curse was the only problem. I mean, first, the queen harvested everything early. Ruby and I were able to re-plant the seedlings from her office, but that was only about a dozen or so plants. I'm guessing she probably plucked enough for her personal use and destroyed the rest, or you'd be going to her with this problem," he added. "The trouble is that magic beans only give you about three or four pods per plant in the first crop and each pod only holds three beans. When the queen cast the curse that sent us home, the second crop hadn't matured yet. And," he nodded to Emma, "when your parents brought us back here, the planting season was over and the plants were dead. So, right now, I've got what's left of that first harvest—less than three dozen beans—for next spring's planting. I should have at least twice that number before I start giving any away."

"But you gave one to Ruby, mate," Killian pointed out.

"If you saw how hard she worked with me to save that crop, you would've done the same," the giant retorted. "Planting's important, but so's paying for a job well done. Anyway, she got the only one in that crop I'm giving away. In another two months, three at the most, I should be able to sow what I've got left. And then, the first crop should be ready about seventy-five days later. At that time, I'll willingly give you one. But… the beans I have now are the last of their kind. I can't even chance planting them all at once. If anything goes wrong, a late frost, a flood, a blight… I need to have something left to start over."

Emma and Killian nodded their understanding. "If you could set one aside for us at harvest," Emma said, "we'd really appreciate it." She turned to Killian.

"I guess I'm going to have to learn how to make a hat. Or try to, anyway."

Killian blinked. "I appreciate the thought, love, but if we're to await the bean, why bother with the hat?"

"Because," Emma admitted, "I don't know the first thing about making one and I'm not sure whether it'll be ready before the bean harvest."

* * *

In Cruella's Golden Spirit, the three women sat hashing out a plan of action. "You're saying," Lily repeated, her eyes wide, "that you can just speed up her pregnancy."

"It's a little more complicated than that," Ursula admitted, "and given that the witch seems to be still in her first trimester, things will need to proceed delicately, but yes. I can do it. And since she's already in the hospital, expert medical assistance will be just around the corner. Or upstairs," she amended.

"And then… what, dahlings?" Cruella asked. "We can't just waltz in and grab the infant; it's not as though we're taking puppies from an empty townhouse. There'll be staff about. Security. Or were you going to use a glamor spell to pose as a doctor?"

"No," Ursula said with a frown. "I don't know anything about midwifery and, unless I'm much mistaken, that's true for you two, as well."

Both Cruella and Lily nodded.

"Well then," Ursula sighed, "I guess we'll need to hope that Mal's lessons in heart-ripping stuck."

"Wait…" Lily's eyes widened. "What?"

"If I can rip out the heart of the doctor handling the delivery, then I'll control him. He can assist with the birth, give us the infant, and we'll be out the door and on our way with nobody the wiser."

Lily was still staring. "You can _rip_ someone's heart out… and they'll still be alive," she repeated incredulously.

"Hopefully," Ursula nodded. "I haven't tried in years. I suspect it's like swimming; once you've learned, you never forget. Otherwise, it'll get rather messy."

"You know what else has the probability of turning messy, don't you dahling?" Cruella said, sounding far more focused than usual. "The moment the witch realizes her child is gone, she'll raise holy hell. That'll alert the heroes and after the call you paid on Regina earlier, our old friend is liable to put two and two together. Particularly if Zelena tells her that we're in town."

"Can we take her?" Lily asked, looking like she was still reeling from their earlier topic of conversation.

"The three of us," Ursula said slowly. "It's possible, though by no means guaranteed."

"It'll be a lot less possible when we consider that it won't be three against one. The simpering princess and her chisel-chinned consort shouldn't be much of a problem, but if their daughter has as much Light magic as the Apprentice claimed…"

"I know," Ursula said. "We'll need something to distract them then. At least, until we can get our hands on the heart."

Lily hesitated. "I know I'm kind of new to all of this," she said slowly, "but the way you guys were talking before about Rumpelstiltskin, and from what I've read about him in my book, even if he's not the Dark One, he's probably going to figure out what's going on fast, maybe even faster than Regina."

"I'd say that's almost a given, dahling," Cruella nodded.

"And he'll know how to stop us, even if he can't do much directly. I mean, he'll be able to come up with a plan that the others can use, right?"

Ursula sighed. "You've got a point."

But Lily was smiling. "And Emma's practically his best friend right now, you were telling us?"

Ursula's eyebrows shot up. "Just what are you getting at?"

Lily shrugged. "Well, if he doesn't have his magic anymore, we should be able to take him. And if we've got him, then one, he won't be able to advise the others and two, Emma's probably going to tear the town apart looking for him. That's our distraction right there."

Cruella and Ursula looked at each other. Then Cruella's lips curved into a nasty smile. "You know, dahlings, it's not as though we haven't got a nice, secure place to store him once we've snatched him…"

* * *

Poseidon looked up in surprise when his herald announced the captain of his elite guard. "You've found the pirate so quickly?" he asked. It had been less than a day since he'd given the order.

The captain bowed low. "I'm afraid I have not, my lord," he admitted.

The king of the sea tilted his head with a faint frown. "I wasn't expecting a daily report from you, captain. Come to me when you have something worth telling me."

The captain raised his eyes to his monarch's. "Forgive me, my lord, for not volunteering information before you asked it of me. While I have yet to locate the pirate, I have discovered his ship."

Poseidon smiled. "Then he must be close by," he exclaimed. "Where is it?"

The mer-man held up a narrow-necked glass bottle that Poseidon hadn't noticed he'd brought with him. "Here, my lord."

Poseidon blinked. "I grant you it's a fair copy, but surely, you can't mean to tell me…?" His voice trailed off and the captain waited until his king motioned for him to speak.

"If my lord would like to examine the ship further," he suggested diffidently, "you will find one aboard who can corroborate my tale."

Incredulous, Poseidon reached for the bottle and peered closely. His eyes widened when they beheld a small red-haired figure waving from the crow's nest atop the ship's main mast. "Captain," he said with a slight frown, "what is my granddaughter doing in your bottle?" The mer-man opened his mouth to speak, but Poseidon waved him back to silence. "On second thought," he continued, making a gesture over the glass, "I'll let her speak for herself."

For a moment, a blue glow seemed to undulate over the bottle like a rippling wave. Then it was gone and a startled young mermaid stood before him. Her surprised expression quickly yielded to a joyful smile as she made a hasty genuflection and practically leaped toward Poseidon. "Grandfather!" she cried.

Poseidon smiled and returned the embrace. Later, he would need to remind her about the necessity for propriety and protocol in the royal throne room. But this _was_ his favorite granddaughter, and it had been years since last he'd seen her. "Ariel," he said warmly. "What under seas _have_ you been up to?"

Ariel hesitated. "Well," she began hesitantly, "it's a long story…"

* * *

Social Studies was Henry's last class of the day on Fridays. When the dismissal bell rang, he quickly gathered up his books and left with his classmates, wishing Mr. Kirke a good weekend on his way out the door.

"Suck-up," Nicholas muttered with a grin that told Henry he was only teasing.

Henry grinned back. "Just being friendly. Maybe he'll mark my next essay easier."

"Yeah, good luck with that."

Henry had already spied another familiar face. "Hey, Cecily!"

Cecily turned her head in his direction. "Oh. Hi, Henry. We're still on for tomorrow at your grandpa's right?"

Henry nodded. "You're bringing Aggie again, right?"

"I have to," Cecily admitted. "Mama still wants me look after her in the afternoon. I hope it's not a problem."

Henry shook his head. "No, actually, I think Grandpa's looking forward to it. At least, he's been asking me if I know what kind of stuff she likes to do and when Belle came by the shop yesterday, she was talking about playdough and finger paints."

Cecily beamed. "Oh my gosh, she'll love those!" Her smile dimmed somewhat as her expression grew thoughtful. "I'll have tell Mama so she knows to send Aggie in old clothes."

"Hey, Henry," Nicholas interrupted, "Ava's already messaged me that our dad's getting impatient. I'd better get a move on. See you later?"

"Bye," Henry murmured, still smiling at Cecily. "Are you taking the bus?"

"Not today," Cecily sighed. "I've got to pick up Skippy at the elementary school; he had to stay late for detention. And since he'll have missed _his_ bus, I'll have to walk home with him." She shook her head. "I know. He's turning ten in a couple of months; he's old enough to walk by himself, or would be back home. But Mama thinks siblings need to stick together and when I say anything about it, she just tells me that we're in a new land, we need to fit in, and just because children are trusted to walk about unsupervised in Sherwood Forest, doesn't mean we should keep up that tradition here!" Exasperation almost had her shouting.

"If it helps any," Henry said, "my mom never minded if I went off on my own when I was his age." Regina had minded it more a year later, after he'd brought Emma here, but mentioning _that_ wouldn't help his case.

Cecily shook her head. "If I tell her that, she'll just give me that other speech about how I'm not you and she's not your mother, and we do things _our_ way. And if I point out that she's just contradicted her earlier argument, she'll tell me that children shouldn't talk back to their elders. Which," she sighed, but she was smiling a little too, "really means she hasn't got a good argument but I still have to do as she says."

"I hear you," Henry said. They were at his locker now, and she waited while he took out some more books and shoved them into his knapsack, together with the history he had already tucked under his arm. "So, I guess things are pretty different here," he said weakly.

Cecily shrugged. "It's okay, really," she said. "It's not really that so much is different. It's that a lot is the same—until it isn't." She sighed. "I'm not making sense, am I?"

"I kind of think you are," Henry said. "Maybe. Uh…" He wiped his hands on the back of his pants. "Look, I know you've got to pick up your brother. I don't mean to keep you. But would you mind if I walked with you?" He hesitated. "Maybe I don't understand completely, but if you don't mind explaining as we go…?"

Cecily smiled shyly. "It might take a while," she murmured.

Henry shrugged. "I've got time. I could even walk you and Skippy back to your place if we need longer. Unless you'd rather catch up with your brother?"

"I can do that at home," Cecily said, still smiling. "If you're really interested and not just… asking to be polite."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "You don't want me to be polite?" he asked.

She blushed. "I didn't mean it that way," she mumbled.

Henry laughed. "I know. And I'm interested. I'll just text my mom and tell her I'll be a little late and that I'm not taking the bus." His phone was already in his hand and Cecily waited as he sent the message. That done, he returned the phone to his pocket.

A thought occurred to him. It was kind of corny and old-fashioned, but going by what they'd just been discussing, maybe she'd go for it. "Uh Cis?" He smiled nervously. "Could I, uh, carry your books for you?"

Cecily blinked. Then she slowly slid her knapsack off her shoulders and handed it to him, still smiling warmly. "Sure."

* * *

Cruella made her way down the storm cellar steps that evening and carefully inspected the cage, liking what she saw. The wire mesh was strong and taut, with no widened holes or speck of rust. The padlock was sturdy, though they'd need to ensure that it was positioned so that it couldn't be picked from inside the cage. Perhaps, she smiled, some sort of bicycle lock might work better. Dear Todd at the country club back in Great Neck had been a cycling enthusiast. A dreadful bore of a conversationalist, but one did have to concede that the hours he'd spent on his Litespeed Blade had given him a positively darb behind. And while she'd been passing the evening drooling over his physique every time he bent down to gallantly search for and retrieve the earrings, contact lenses (she didn't wear any, but he didn't need to know that) and sundry other small items she contrived to drop, she hadn't entirely been able to tune out his dull natterings about 'Kryptonian bicycle locks' or something sounding rather like that. Thick metal or heavy cable, with a secure combination code, yes, that would hold possibilities. And hopefully, it would hold Rumple.

She was smiling as she climbed the stairs once more. To her surprise, she wasn't the only person outside. "Not that I care, of course," she sniffed, "but whatever are you doing out here, Lilith, dahling?"

"Freezing," Lily deadpanned. "We're closer to your car than the farmhouse. Mind if I shelter in it for a bit. The wind's picking up."

Cruella's eyes narrowed. There was no wind. But then, the person who might be listening in didn't know that. "Yes," she said, "and from the wrong direction." She sighed. "Very well. But only until it dies down."

"Thanks."

Once they were inside, Cruella smiled. "All right, dahling. Ursula's spell should still be functioning. At least, we can hope so. Penny for your thoughts?"

Lily was silent for a moment. Then, almost nervously, she asked, "After we get the heart and unleash the Darkness, what happens to the baby?"

Cruella shrugged. "Nothing terrible. You heard Ursula; the spell won't harm it."

"I know. But, do we give it back to Zelena, or…?"

Cruella didn't answer for a moment. Instead, she opened the glove compartment, pulled out a pen, and held it before her face, in a way that reminded Lily of a cigarette holder. Finally, she asked seriously, "Do you think we can trust Zelena?"

"How far?" Lily countered, nearly at once.

"Now that," there was warmth in Cruella's smile for the first time, "is an excellent question. You see, right now, while I'm not sure we actually _need_ Zelena as an ally, it's useful to let her think she is. And I'm not so certain she needs us. At the moment, our goals and hers seem to be in alignment. But that could change. And if it does, well, I rather think we'll need some leverage, don't you?"

"So we… what? Keep it? Raise it?"

"I suppose we could," Cruella said dubiously. "Or you or Ursula might, if either of you are inclined. I'm not exactly mother material. But actually, there's a far simpler solution. We only needed one dose of sleeping curse for the old man. I have a second earring. A couple of drops in the formula and, well, it'll need no more looking after than an Armand Marseille doll. We'll just need to keep it safe is all."

Lily smiled tightly. "Of course."

"Really, dahling," Cruella continued, "it'll be so much easier this way. The baby won't age. It won't require nourishment or," she wrinkled her nose, "diaper changes. It won't be fussy or colicky, nor will it become injured or ill. It's hardly as though we're abandoning it to die, now."

"Of course not," Lily nodded.

"So, if we're all on the same page, I suppose we'd best be getting back to the house," she continued, opening her door. After a moment, Lily did the same. She hung back a few paces, letting Cruella lead the way. And when she was certain that the other woman wasn't turning to see if she was following, she pulled some folded papers out of her jacket pocket and smoothed them out as best she could.

They were worn pages, with one ragged edge, clearly torn out of some book or other and she looked at them in the moonlight, her eyes cold and flat. "I guess I should count my blessings that you never used that potion on _me_ , Cruella," she murmured. "Then again, I doubt you ever thought I'd be of any use to you when you abandoned me to die in Minnesota. Fate's got a twisted sense of humor sometimes." She smiled then. "I shall have my revenge. It's all falling into place. First the Apprentice. Then Emma and her family. And then, you and Ursula."

The wind started up for real then, swallowing her quiet laughter.


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

Rumple woke up Saturday morning after having passed a frustrating Friday evening. While he was getting the hang of using the drop spindle to focus his magic, such would prove rather impractical in an emergency situation. It seemed as though he could access his magical talents if he focused on what he meant to accomplish with them while he spun his thread. However, that meant that he couldn't just cast his spells with a wave of his hand as he'd been wont to do in the not-so-distant past. Spinning took a bit more time and, after some experimentation, he'd discovered that a longer thread made for a stronger spell.

While a great deal better than nothing, Rumple could see that this new development was going to prove problematic, particularly if Ursula _was_ in town. If the Sea Witch meant to attack him, she could have him in the ocean and at her mercy before he could have the new wool attached to his leader thread. He doubted he'd be able to spin in the water, particularly not if he was also treading it to keep from drowning.

He thought about the shelf in his workroom, where he kept vials of bottled magic against an emergency. He could, likewise, spin certain spells in advance and store the thread. It would be easier to unleash the magic that way. But it would also mean that he would need to know exactly which thread contained which spell before he unraveled it. Otherwise, he might cast a healing spell when he needed a fireball. Or vice versa. In the midst of a battle, well! He pictured himself frantically pulling a handful of threads out of his suit jacket pocket and trying to determine what each one would do as his foe methodically aimed blasts of raw power at him. No, this was not a workable situation, not now.

Perhaps, another visit to Mr. Castaway was in order. Or perhaps, he would be better served discussing his concerns with the Apprentice instead. He'd have to call on one of them this week.

Meanwhile, though, he thought as he pushed back his bed covers and sat up, he needed to begin his day. Henry would be at the shop bright and early, set to complete his tasks before his friends arrived. And, there were still a few things that Rumple meant to do (in addition to getting washed up, dressed, and breakfasted) to prepare for Aggie's day.

The fragrance of pancakes wafted upstairs, mingling with that of cinnamon from the overnight oats that had even found its way into his dreams. Belle was fixing breakfast. Despite the trials and tribulations of last night, Rumple found himself smiling as he swung his legs off the mattress and found his slippers. He did need to hurry if he meant to join his wife for breakfast before they both left for their respective places of work.

* * *

Cruella drove up the road to the cemetery and pulled into the lot. It wasn't hard for them to spot the vault once they walked through the main gate. "I guess this is it," Lily murmured.

Ursula nodded. "You can't feel it, I know, but magic is practically radiating out from every crack and crevice."

Lily was silent for a moment. Then, "Actually, I… I think I do feel something. Almost like a… a warm thread. Pulling me in. Calling—" She'd taken an unwitting step forward and was startled when Ursula yanked her back.

"Careful!" the sea witch said. "Regina probably has sentry spells to let her know if anyone tries to intrude here. Stay back." Then, in a slightly more matter-of-fact tone, she added, "I guess it's not that surprising that you're feeling that pull. Your mother had magic, after all. It stands to reason you've some aptitude for it. But this isn't the time or place to experiment. Once we've acquired Rumple's heart and accomplished what we're setting out to do, there'll be plenty of opportunity for instruction. Right now, we can't afford to get sidetracked." She waited for Lily's reluctant nod.

"At any rate," Ursula continued, "this _is_ where the heart is being kept. So. Let's make sure we're on the same page, because once we begin, we're going to have to move quickly. So. Today, Lily, you're going back to the hospital for another heart-to-heart with Zelena, where you will ask her…?"

"…Whether she's not getting sick of hospital food and if I can't slip her anything. If there is something she wants, I buy it. If not, I get her something anyway."

"Meanwhile," Ursula nodded, "I brew up something to accelerate her pregnancy. Fortunately, I'll need a few ingredients that aren't in that storm cellar, or she might recognize what I'm up to if she spies what I'm taking out of her supplies. I can mix the potion up on the beach for extra privacy; it'll be more or less deserted at this time of year, so I shouldn't think anybody will intrude. Tomorrow," she smiled, "you'll sprinkle a few drops of the potion on whatever it is you're getting for her. Don't stick around for long after she eats it. The baby will age roughly one month each hour, which means that she'll start to notice that something's wrong around hour two. And since she's about three or four months along, I'd expect she'll go into labor around hour five or six."

"While you're having afternoon tea with Zelena," Cruella continued, "Ursula and I will snatch Rumple. At that hour, he should be alone. His wife will be at the library and as for Emma's spawn, well, he usually leaves a bit before closing time, from what my furry and feathered spies have been reporting. There might be the odd customer, but we can work around that. In and out, like a flash, with nobody the wiser."

"Not too flashy," Ursula cautioned. "We want him to be able to leave some clue to tip off the others that he's in trouble and didn't just step out for coffee."

"That's assuming they'll go chasing after him, dahling."

Ursula sighed. "We can hope. If not, well, at least he'll be off the board and in no position to provide assistance to anyone who might come a-knocking on his door. We give him a minute or two; he's smart; he should be able to leave some kind of message in that space of time. And my tentacles are fast enough to keep him from triggering a silent alarm or pulling a gun."

"If it comes to that," Cruella said grimly, "I pack a pistol of my own. It should be enough to stop him."

"Just don't do anything more lethal than that," Ursula cautioned.

Cruella smiled. "No fear on that score, dahling. I just need to draw mine before he can draw his. And then, we wait for the croaker to get the call."

"Croaker?" Lily replied blankly. "Like a frog, you mean?"

"No, dahling," Cruella sighed. "That's just what we used to call doctors back where I come from. By the time Zelena goes into labor, he'll likely be relaxing at home. We catch him there; Ursula rips out his heart and, well, whichever of you two is the least squeamish takes on the Blue Fairy's likeness and accompanies him back to the hospital. The two of you deliver the baby and just make sure the squalling brat takes a detour on its way to the nursery."

"It'll have to be me," Ursula said reluctantly. "From what Zelena's told us, they don't know she can use her magic. Well, magical control tends to fray under stress and, while I don't have any first-hand experience to go by, I'm willing to bet that going into labor—especially when you didn't have an inkling it was going to happen when you got up that morning—is liable to be pretty stressful. If she cuts loose before any sedatives have a chance to kick in, I'll need to do something. And if I look like the Blue Fairy, nobody ought to be surprised if I use a bit of magic of my own."

"Your magic won't look like hers, though," Cruella cautioned. "It'll be as different as, well, Light and Dark."

"I know," Ursula admitted. "But hopefully, the only people present for the birth will be her, me, and the doctor. Given the situation, I don't think the focus is going to be on whether my magic looks like smoke or light." She frowned. "It might not be a bad idea for me to disguise the two of you, though. If Regina catches wind of what's going on and shows up right when I'm casting something, she _might_ notice the difference and realize what it could mean. So if she arrives at the hospital, it'll be up to the two of you to stall her as best you can."

"Got it," Lily nodded. "And once we have the baby?"

Ursula smiled. "We drive back here and break into the vault. At that point, it won't matter if Regina's intruder alarm goes off. By the time anyone shows up, we'll be long gone."

* * *

Rumple looked up when the bell over the shop door jangled a greeting. "Booth," he smiled, as August walked in holding a large reusable shopping bag by its handles.

"Hi, August," Henry called, looking up from polishing one of the glass countertops.

The former puppet smiled back. "I just came by to drop this off," he said, holding up the bag and pushing it toward Rumple. "I'm sorry it took so long to get everything right."

Rumple took the bag from him and reached inside. "I do believe you've outdone yourself, Mr. Booth," he murmured, as he pulled out the case and unlatched it. His eyes widened as he picked up one of the ships and examined it. "Astonishing," he proclaimed.

"I… hope you mean that in a good way," August replied, his chuckle making it plain that he wasn't actually doubting it.

"Oh, I do," Rumple assured him, as he turned to the safe on his wall and expertly dialed the combination. He counted off a number of bills, and then laid two more down atop the pile.

"That's not—" August started to say, but Rumple held up his hand to stave off any protest.

"While I certainly enjoy getting the better end of a deal, I think you've delivered a bit more than what we agreed upon some weeks back. As such, the initial terms are scarcely fair recompense for the work you've produced. I'm simply rectifying the shortfall." He shook his head. "Truthfully, I still think I'm underpaying you, but I suspect you'd be more than willing to offer a discount to a… friend?"

August blinked. Then his features relaxed in an easy grin. "Well, yeah. Especially if it'll get me more commissions down the road."

Rumple nodded, relaxing as he felt himself on solid ground once more. He understood business concessions and deals far better than he did friendship. And while he could recognize full well that the object he held in his hands smacked far more of the latter, it was easier for him to accept a gift when it was couched in the wrappings of the former. "I believe that I can assure you of that," he returned warmly.

* * *

After his disappointing encounter with Tiny, Killian was glad when Marco called him with some good news. "Grumpy, he showed me the plans for your ship," the handyman said. "I know he's applied to the mayor's office for the permit to cut the lumber. He should have her answer at the next council meeting. Now, I may not be a dwarf, but I know a thing or two about carpentry and dubbing." He smiled. "And me and hard work, we're old friends. If you want my help, and Leroy's amenable, I think I can save you three months. Maybe four."

Killian's eyes lit up. "Mate," he said warmly, "you've no idea how happy I am to hear that."

"Well, don't be too overjoyed," Marco cautioned. "The agreement you made with Leroy, that pays for him and his brothers. You want me," he waggled a finger with a warning smile, "I don't work cheap. But I think you know you get the quality you pay for."

"That I do, mate," Killian nodded. "Name your price."

Marco did. Killian considered for a moment. Then he nodded, his eyes scanning the garage workroom. Almost absently, he lifted a miniature clock down from a shelf."

"Ah… careful. That piece, she's fragile," Marco cautioned.

Killian smiled. "I can see that. But it's a fine piece of work. Yours?"

"Me and my boy's," Marco nodded.

"Well, exquisite as your embellishments are, I won't need all this swag and scrollwork on my vessel," the captain admitted. "But if you and your son can turn out pieces like this, I suspect you're quoting me a more reasonable price than you might another man."

The handyman shrugged. "It's been a long time since I've been approached about a project like this. I must say I'm looking forward. If you'll allow me the opportunity."

Killian thrust out his hand and Marco took it, smiling. "I have a standard contract I use for commissions," the handyman added, as the captain released him. "I'll review it and have it ready for you to sign tomorrow. And meanwhile," he added, reaching down behind his work counter and coming up with a canvas bag, "my boy, when he found out that you were coming here, he asked me to give you this. He actually finished it a few days ago," he admitted, "but he's been looking it over, making sure it's as perfect as he can make it. He said I should get it out of here before he found something." He passed the bag over. "Take it home; look it over. And if you find anything wrong, bring it back tomorrow when you come to sign."

Killian smiled. "Doesn't sound as though there'll be much to find the way you're talking, mate, but I shall. And thank your son for me. I'm sorry I missed him."

* * *

The hospital was quieter on Saturdays, Lily reflected. Or, at least, on this particular Saturday. She'd been standing in the elevator for nearly two hours, while passengers traveled up and down from main floor to top, until someone finally inserted the steel key to take the car to the secure wing. She made her way down the hallway, her crepe-soled shoes barely making a sound. She'd trained herself to move as noiselessly as possible; there had been more than a few break-and-enters when the house she'd been targeting hadn't been nearly as empty as she'd thought. It paid off. She'd only been caught once, and really, it had been her own fault for not scoping out the place beforehand and realizing that the family in question owned a Labrador retriever pup, who had barked an enthusiastic welcome when it had discovered her in the master bedroom. She'd made it out the window, but after tumbling into the rosebushes below, she'd been in too much pain to do anything but stay there in agony until the cops showed up.

She wasn't caught this time.

"Zelena?" she called, not wanting to risk opening the pass-through.

An excited stage whisper returned her hesitant greeting. "Lily! You came back!"

Lily coaxed a smile into her voice. "Just couldn't keep away. Ursula might be the Sea Witch, but I'm the one who feels like a fish out of water around here. At least I can have a conversation with you without being called 'dahling' or feeling like I'm five again." Maybe she was laying it on a bit thick; Cruella's condescension wasn't anything she couldn't handle. But she was going to need to catch Zelena off-guard, and the more naïve, open, and vulnerable she acted now, the better her chances later."

Zelena laughed. "Sounds like your alliance isn't as rock-solid as you led me to believe earlier."

Lily let out an audible sigh. "What can I say? I've been going along with a lot of little things that bug me and it's getting to the point where they're adding up to one major pain in the…" She let her voice trail off. "Sorry. Not your problem."

"Oh, no," Zelena protested. "Don't stop there! Please, I haven't even got a television in here. At least tell me _something_ entertaining."

And by 'entertaining,' she meant 'useful', Lily thought cynically. Still, she couldn't keep her tongue too closely guarded, not if she wanted to earn the witch's trust. And if Zelena was looking for entertainment, well Lily had enough stories of Cruella to fit that bill and let her do a little venting besides. Beginning with their first meeting…

* * *

Rumple had almost forgotten what it was like having a small child about. He'd set Aggie to finger-painting, waiting until she seemed absorbed in her work before resuming his own duties. He'd been going through his ledger, checking who might still owe him back rent, though he had no pressing need to collect it, when he felt a firm tug on his suit jacket.

Startled, he looked down into a pair of wide brown eyes. "Yes, Aggie?"

"I hafta go to the bathroom."

Rumple nodded. "Of course. Come. I'll show you where it is."

There was now a violet spot near the hem of his jacket; Aggie had clearly been mixing the red and blue paints together. He pressed his lips together and reminded himself that the paint was water soluble. No real harm done.

"I don't wanna paint anymore," Aggie announced when she emerged. "Can I watch a video?"

Rumple sighed. "I'm afraid I've neither player nor videos here, dearie. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Aggie said at once. "You got books?"

Rumple raised an eyebrow. "Can you read, then?"

Aggie shook her head. "Not yet, but I know my ABCs. Almost," she added, ducking her head. "But you could read."

Rumple considered. "Well, I don't have any books here at the moment. Not any that would interest you. But I can ask Belle to bring several with her when she joins us."

"When will she get here?" Aggie asked.

Rumple checked the time. "I should think it would be within the next two hours."

The child groaned. "Two _hours?_ That long?"

Rumple shook his head wistfully. When one had lived for over two _centuries_ , two hours were fleeting. But Aggie had not. "Tell me," he said, "what is it you do all day when your brothers and sisters are at school?"

Aggie shrugged. "Uh… I sing, I play, I sweep…"

"Ah. Well, there's a broom in the corner, if you'd care to sweep here."

Aggie glanced at it. "It's too big," she said. "Mine's not so heavy and the stick part's shorter. Mama calls it a wish-broom."

"A whisk broom," Rumple corrected with a faint smile. "A wish-broom would be a fine thing, though. A good deal more convenient than a wishing star, wouldn't you say?"

Aggie shrugged again. "I don't got one of those either. I'm bored."

"Well, we can't have that," Rumple replied. "You were telling me that you sweep. Have you ever tried your hand at polishing?"

Aggie shook her head. "Sometimes, if the spoons an' forks just have some spots on 'em, Mama lets me rub 'em with toothpaste, but if that don't work, Cis hasta use hot water and soda and if they're really bad, they need the smelly stuff," she wrinkled her nose, "and Mama says I'm not old enough."

Tin flatware, Rumple thought to himself. Toothpaste, or a paste of hot water and sodium bicarbonate, could remove some tarnish, but for pieces in worse shape, something on the order of kerosene or turpentine would be warranted. "I had a different sort of polishing in mind, actually. Shall I show you?"

Aggie shrugged, but she went back willingly to the shop floor.

"You'd best cover those paints so they don't dry out," Rumple directed. "And bring them here; I'll put them aside for next time."

By the time Aggie complied, Rumple had a set of pewter serving dishes spread out on the floor behind the counter. "I like these," she said, stretching a hesitant hand toward a candy dish shaped like a scallop shell.

"They're serviceable enough," Rumple nodded. "But they've gone uncared for far too long. Before they can be offered up for sale, they'll require some restoration. So." He slid open a cabinet behind the counter and removed a sack of flour, a gallon jug of vinegar, and a salt canister. "This may be somewhat similar to that paste you mentioned your sister uses, however this one," he smiled, "won't be hot. No risk of scalding." So saying, he measured out two parts vinegar to one part flour in a plastic mixing bowl, stirring it to paste. "And since this is satin pewter," he murmured, "we'll need to make it a drop more abrasive." So saying, he added a small measure of salt to the mixture. "There. Now, Aggie, what I'd like you to do," he smiled, "is put these on," he handed her a pair of cotton gloves. I'm sorry that they're a bit large, but you'll need steel wool for this and it may cut your hands." He waited for Aggie to don the gloves. "Excellent," he smiled. "Now take this," he handed her the steel wool, "and use it to rub this paste all over the pieces."

"Everywhere?" Aggie asked.

"Well, perhaps not the bottom; we'll do that later. For now, just coat the rest—gently, mind—and let them stand. We'll wash it off after."

Aggie's gloved hand closed around the steel wool. "I never done this before," she said.

"Well, you shan't be able to say that after today. Here. I'll do one piece to show you how. Watch carefully, and then you try."

He waited until she'd done three pieces properly before he went back to his ledger, glancing up every now and again to ensure that she was still occupied.

* * *

Zelena gave Lily a commiserating sigh. "I'm beginning to see why you suggested that your abortive mace attack on my projection qualified as a win-win. I will admit to finding Cruella's antics amusing in small doses, but you're living with her."

 _And you're trying to manipulate me_ , Lily thought. Aloud, she said, "why do you think I came over here? Ursula's either working magic or hunting down ingredients and you're better conversation."

"Also in small doses," Zelena cautioned. "These corridors do get patrolled with a certain regularity and you oughtn't to risk our little chats being overheard. In fact, you'd best be running along before they come by with my lunch." She sighed. "Much as I adore green, I think they put real effort into making split pea soup as bland and unpalatable as possible."

Lily hesitated. "Maybe I could bring you something tomorrow," she suggested. "I don't know if I'm the greatest cook, but I could probably scrounge up some takeout."

Zelena's response was a laugh of sheer delight. "Well aren't you the perfect little godsend! I've been wishing for some of Granny's onion rings for some time now."

"Sure," Lily said at once. "I can bring them tomorrow."

"Not right before you arrive, mind." A canny note crept into Zelena's voice. "They're wonderfully fragrant when warm, but that fragrance will point a beacon directly to you. And possibly to me, if they follow it here. It'll raise questions. Get them an hour or so before you come; give them time to cool."

"Okay," Lily said, "but cold onion rings sound kind of…"

"Unappetizing?" Zelena finished. "Well, I suppose they are, compared to warm ones. But at this point, I'd much rather cold than none at all."

"Okay," Lily repeated. "Tomorrow, then."

"Can't wait."

As Lily made her way back toward the elevator, she murmured, "Neither can I."

* * *

Poseidon listened to his granddaughter's tale in comparative silence, interjecting only when Arial veered off on tangential topics to steer her back on course. When she was done, he shook his head in astonishment. "Your father never mentioned you'd taken up residence above," he managed. "And we _have_ spoken a few times since your departure."

Ariel smiled nervously. "He did say that it might be better if you didn't find out," she admitted. "But you did ask, and I never could lie. Especially, not to you, Grandfather."

"I'm delighted to hear _that_ ," Poseidon replied tartly, hiding a smile of his own.

_When one ruled the sea, it was inevitable that one would attract a certain number of fawners and sycophants. And he had recognized long ago the concerted efforts made by his court to shield him from matters that he would prefer not to hear. He'd made it clear to his ministers that such ploys would be tolerated only so long as they did not impinge on the security of his reign or of his realms. Thus far, he had every reason to trust that they were obeying his directive._

_From the moment that his granddaughter had begun to speak, however, Poseidon had fallen in love with her complete and utter guilelessness. He well remembered her first state banquet. She'd been barely a fry then, far too young to stay up late, but when Triton had asked whether she might, at least, stay for the first course, Poseidon had allowed it. He'd been amused by her antics as she floundered about, occasionally able to swim a few strokes smoothly, but never for very long. And then, he'd attacked his first course—a salad made from no fewer than eight varieties of seaweed, seasoned with rice vinegar and sesame oil salvaged from a sunken merchant ship. Only to hear a small voice pipe up, "Mama says too much sesame oil is fattening."_

_There was a collective gasp from the courtiers in close attendance, as Poseidon set down his fork and focused his attention on the red-haired scrap of a mer-princess who was regarding him with wide green eyes that gazed at him, frank and unintimidated._

_"Does she?" he asked, his tone betraying no hint of emotion._

_Ariel nodded. "She says the seeds, too. But I like it anyway."_

_"As do I," Poseidon returned, picking up his fork once more._

_"You eat it a lot?" Ariel persisted._

_Poseidon tilted his head up at her once more. "I suppose it graces my menu often enough," he allowed. Truthfully, he'd never much thought about it. If he disliked a dish, he informed his cook and it was not served to him again. Otherwise, he knew that he could expect it on his table with some frequency._

_"You're not scared you'll blow up like a puffer-fish?"_

_This time, the child's innocent question emerged during one of those inexplicable lulls in table conversation and carried clearly throughout the hall. And a horrified voice bellowed, "ARIEL!" Almost before the last syllable of her name had stopped echoing in the hall, Triton and his wife were genuflecting before him. Amphinoe was scooping up her daughter, wrapping a tailfin over the confused child's mouth, as Triton began apologizing for the girl's lack of manners._

_Poseidon waved his hand imperiously and his son fell silent. For a moment, he regarded the three of them, two nervous, one puzzled—but still unafraid. His eyebrows knit together and he half rose from his throne, one hand clasped about the shaft of his trident for support—the throne had deep cushions, which made getting up from it with any amount of dignity rather difficult. He waited one moment longer._

_Then he threw back his head and laughed._

_Relief washed over the hall like a tidal wave on the surface._

_Poseidon clapped his hands together. "Have my granddaughter seated beside me," he directed his chamberlain. "If I have to endure prattle this evening, I'd rather it be_ honest _prattle."_

Now, he smiled at that memory. "Tell me, granddaughter. The captain of the vessel on which my officers found you—do you know where he might be found?"

Ariel's face darkened. "I'm not sure I'd _want_ to find him after what he did to me, Grandfather." Her face flushed and she ducked her head apologetically. "But if I did," she went on hastily, "the last time I saw him, it was in the ocean between the Enchanted Forest and Arundel. I don't know if he's still there now. When I was in Neverland, I heard from some of our people there that he'd lived there too at one point." Her eyes opened very wide. "Or maybe…"

"Ariel?"

She hesitated. "Grandfather, have you ever heard tell of a Dark Curse?"

* * *

Henry had been correct, Rumple reflected, as he watched the afternoon's rehearsal-cum-recital. Cecily had quite the talent for acting. The youths were all coming along rather nicely, but Cecily didn't seem to step into her part, so much as let it settle about her like a comfortable cloak. And, he noted, despite the family responsibilities that Henry had mentioned, it wasn't lost on Rumple that Cecily had most of her lines already memorized—a feat the others had yet to accomplish.

"They're talkin' 'bout pudding again," Aggie said. "Is it suppertime yet?"

Rumple smiled down at her. "Not quite," he admitted. "And I'm afraid it will have to be something other than pudding for you when it is."

Aggie shrugged. "The mac-and-cheese was okay. But if I come next time, can I get pudding?"

"Well," Rumple murmured, trying to devote equal attention to the young players before him and the child seated on his display counter—whose rubber-soled shoes were kicking scuff marks into the glass he'd painstakingly polished an hour earlier, "I doubt that your mother would approve of my serving you nothing but pudding for dinner. But I shall endeavor to have some for you for dessert, if you like."

Aggie nodded eagerly. "Sometimes mama makes one with apples and raisins for special."

"I see," Rumple said, his expression solemn. "And next week will be… special?" he asked, fixing her with penetrating eye.

Undaunted, Aggie nodded again. "If you're getting me pudding, it'll be special," she assured him.

It was a good thing that the play before him was a comedy, because Rumple couldn't quite suppress his guffaw. And he only felt a momentary twinge of guilt when he saw Henry flash Nicholas a quick smile of relief, clearly under the impression that his grandfather had been laughing at one of the lines in the play.

He slipped Aggie one of the picture books that Belle had brought and resolved to give the remainder of the performance his full attention.

* * *

Whale planned to work the early shift at the hospital the next day. He'd met someone the other night at the Rabbit Hole and he was hoping to see her again that evening. Maybe this time, he'd be able to snag her phone number. Or better yet, her name! He was out the door and just locking up when he heard a raspy breath behind him and something like a dark cable whipped about his torso, pinning his arms to his sides. He had time to release a strangled gasp, before another tentacle plunged into his chest and yanked out his heart.

"Go back inside the house, doctor," a voice as hoarse as it was cold intoned. "Call the hospital. Tell them you're taking the day off, unless there's an emergency. Then stay inside until they call you back. Forget this incident. Forget I was ever here."

The tentacles withdrew and Whale immediately unlocked his door again, sparing neither glance nor thought for their owner. He hung up his coat once more in the vestibule, dutifully made the phone call, walked into his living room and turned on the TV, channel surfing until he found a talk show that sounded halfway interesting. A moment after he sank down into his sofa cushions, he forgot that he'd ever gone outside at all that morning.

* * *

Granny Lucas looked the adolescent girl up and down. "Haven't seen you around much before," she said gruffly.

"Yeah," the girl replied, ducking her head slightly. "I… uh… just came over with the last curse, I guess. Still getting used to stuff."

The older woman's face relaxed in a thin smile. "Well. Welcome to Storybrooke. What can I get for you this morning?"

"Is it too early for onion rings?" she asked hesitantly.

"Just a bit," Granny said. "They're more of a lunch thing around here, and on Sunday, we serve breakfast until eleven."

The girl sighed. "I was afraid of that. I've got a test this afternoon I'm cramming for. I won't be able to come back later."

Granny was silent for a moment. Then she shook her head. "Oh, well. I guess we can turn on the deep fryer a little early today." She frowned. "You know they'll get cold fairly quick, right?"

Smiling, Lily affected a shrug. "That's okay. They're almost as good that way. Oh, uh, could I get some ketchup packets, too?"

Granny gave her a brisk nod. "Comin' right up."

Lily's smile widened. " _Perfect…_ "


	30. Chapter Thirty

**Chapter Thirty**

 

"Give it time," Tia advised Rumple. "You're only trying to learn a new way to do an old trick after two hundred years."

"For what it's worth," Tony added, "I do understand the problem. I'd have had a much harder time all along without Tia running interference while I played my harmonica."

Rumple nodded reluctantly. "And now?"

Tony shrugged. "After a few years of study, I got to the point where I can do a few more things without it. The harmonica helps me channel my talent and it lets me do more with it, no question. But it's not the source of my power." He tapped his chest. "That's all in here. The harmonica just makes it easier to let it out."

"Meditation helps," Tia added. "We can show you some of the basics of what we do, although I'm not sure whether it's meditation in general or those techniques in particular." She smiled self-consciously. "We didn't really start training until we found our people in Misty Valley," she admitted. "I don't think we 'learned' how to use our powers before then exactly; we just… did it."

"The hard part was learning how _not_ to use them," Tony nodded. "But yeah, once we got back to Uncle Bené, that was when we really started figuring things out instead of learning as we went." Tony gave Rumple a faint smile. "Which sounds a bit like what you've been doing."

Rumple nodded back, but his expression was troubled. "I appreciate your words, but I was hoping to speak with your uncle this morning. You said you have no idea when he'll return?"

Tia shook her head. "He's had to go off like this a time or two before, but usually he's let us know ahead of time. I hope it's nothing serious, but," she sighed, "I just have this _feeling_ …"

Rumple nodded. Then he finished his tea and set the cup down on the coffee table with a sigh. "I suppose I'd best be getting back to the shop," he said. "But if your uncle does come back, I'd appreciate it if you could let him know I'd like to speak with him."

Tony and Tia got up as well. "Sure," Tony said. "Here, we'll walk you out."

"They _will_ find you, you know," Tia added.

Rumple blinked. "Pardon?"

Tia's eyes went vague for a moment, then snapped back to alertness. "Sorry?"

"You just said," Rumple replied, "that 'they' would find me. What did you mean by that? Who?"

For a moment Tia didn't answer. Then, "I'm sorry. Sometimes, I get these… flashes. I just… know things. But I don't always remember the context." She shook her head. "That hasn't happened in a while, not out of the blue, like that. I guess I'm more worried about Uncle Bené than I thought." She smiled uneasily. "If I find out anything else, either about what… just happened or about Uncle Bené, I'll call you."

"I don't recall giving you my phone number," Rumple remarked.

"We have other methods," Tia reminded him gently. "Though if you'd prefer," she pulled out her cell phone, "we can use more conventional means…"

* * *

It was a quiet Sunday. Quiet enough that Rumple was actually contemplating closing the shop early and surprising Belle at the library. He couldn't help noticing that Henry seemed a bit restless, though the young man did his tasks uncomplainingly. Finally, Rumple sighed. "Go."

"Grandpa?"

Rumple set down his polishing cloth. "It's a crisp February day. There are only a few remaining hours of daylight. And if that floor were any cleaner, the glare of the sun reflecting off of it might blind me. Now, I am not in the habit of granting early releases from drudgery, so I would suggest that you leave now," he dropped his voice to an ominous whisper. "Before such largesse can be withdrawn." He waved Henry away. "Go on. I'll see you tomorrow."

Henry grinned. "Okay, Grandpa. And thanks."

"You are quite welcome."

After Henry was gone, Rumple went into the back room. On the table, an unfamiliar sheaf of stapled pages caught his eye and he reached for it. After a moment, he smiled. Henry had forgotten his script. Clearly, his grandson had been practicing his lines either on his break, or between duties. A corner of a page was folded down and Rumple flipped to it curiously. So. He'd been reviewing the scene that Aggie had twice interrupted. Understandable, considering that they hadn't been able to complete its performance yesterday. Smiling, he replaced the script where he'd found it and sighed when he realized that, while Henry had been hard at work on the shop floor, this back office was badly in need of sweep and a mop. Shaking his head, but not really put out, he took the broom from the corner and set about rectifying the situation.

His thoughts strayed to dinner. He didn't feel like going out and he wasn't much in the mood to cook. And Belle had mentioned at breakfast that she'd noticed the other day that the children's section of the library was in complete disarray and she meant to stay later than usual after closing to sort it out. Thoughtfully, he pulled out his phone.

"Belle? I was wondering what you might think of takeout tonight. I can pick it up once I know you're on your way home."

He wasn't that surprised to find out that she was missing Granny's hamburgers. Sooner or later, he felt certain that she would go back there. When she was ready. For now, though, she could at least enjoy the food. Still smiling, he made his way back to the shop floor to jot down her order and ruminate on his own.

He was writing it down, his notepad on the counter that ran the length of the wall behind the display cases, his back to the front door, when the bell jangled. "I'll be right with you," he said, without turning, but he happened to glance at the mirror directly overhead and he felt his hands grow cold. Thanks to the captain, he'd learned that Ursula was in town. He supposed he'd been waiting for her to confront him. But while the woman he saw in the mirror was no stranger to him, he hadn't known that she was here as well. Were she and Ursula working together, or…?

Trying to keep his demeanor nonchalant, he finished writing down the order, thought for a moment, and added one item more. Then, as though he had all the time in the world, he turned with a smile.

"Well, well," he said, "if it isn't Cruella De Vil."

Cruella smiled scornfully. "It's been a long time, Rumple."

"That it has," he returned, regarding her searchingly, trying to glean some hint as to her intentions. "What can I do for you?"

That was when she pulled a pearl-handled pistol out of her pocket and leveled it at him. "You can come with me."

Rumple swallowed. "You could have just asked, dearie. Seeing you here after all these years, I'm more than willing to catch up with you, even without that incentive in your hand." He raised both hands, palms out, exuding a calm he didn't feel in the slightest. "Now why don't you just put away that gun, and—"

Quicker than she could react, he flung himself to the ground, trusting that the cases would block any shot she might be planning to take at him. He might not be able to rely on his magic, but he'd learned a thing or two about sleight of hand and subterfuge. He reached into his pocket and waited.

Sure enough, a few seconds later, Cruella was leaning over the counter a sneer curling her lips. "Really, dahling," she drawled, as Rumple drew out the small satin pouch, "you don't think this is just a tad undigni— _Agghhh!_ "

Rumple didn't wait to admire the results of the flash powder he'd just chucked full into her face. Instead, he grabbed his cane and scuttled into the back room, tugging at the curtain and wishing that it was a solid door. It would barely slow Cruella down, but if he could get out the back way…

A metal rod caught him in his mid-section, stealing the breath from his lungs, and he caught a glimpse of a dark-haired woman who looked to be about Emma's age, holding a floor lamp as though it was a quarter staff. She raised her weapon again, preparing for a second blow and he flung up his hands in a defensive posture. Something cold, strong, and slimy slapped itself over his mouth, stifling his instinctive shriek. Before he realized what was happening, another tentacle had wrapped itself about his torso. "Stop struggling," Ursula snapped. "With no magic and a bum ankle, the only place you're going? Is where we choose to take you."

"Here," the other woman said, holding up large cloth bag with a drawstring. "Bend his head forward, and pass me that twine on the table."

As the tentacle around his mouth jerked his head forward, from out the corner of his eye, Rumple saw another one snake its way toward the worktable. Even in his panic, he had to acknowledge that Ursula was right. There was no escape for him at the moment. So he didn't fight when the stranger put the bag over his head and drew the string close enough to ensure that it wouldn't slip off, though loosely enough to allow him to breathe easily. There was no such consideration spared for his wrists—soon bound in front of him, tightly enough that he knew his hands would grow numb ere long.

"Cruella?" Ursula called. "You okay out there?"

"Just fine, dahlings," a voice sang from the front of the shop. "You have him?"

"In the bag," the other woman returned. "Can you bring the car around back?"

"Already done, Lily dear."

Even through the bag, Rumple heard her footsteps draw closer. And then a steely hand closed on his shoulder and he felt something blunt dig into his ribcage. "Just walk, Rumple," Cruella ordered. "And don't try anything. Because I'm more than willing to bet your life that I can pull this trigger before you can alert anyone on the street as to your predicament. Now move. Out the door, to the back alley. No funny business."

There was no help for it now. Unresisting, he allowed the women to lead him outside and bundle him into the car. He could only hope that he would be able turn this situation to his advantage at some point in the not too distant future.

* * *

Tony's mind was nearly as blank as he could make it. He sat on the edge of his bed, eyes closed, harmonica raised to his mouth. When he began to blow into it, he didn't consciously try to coax any particular sequence of notes out of the instrument. Instead, he let the music—and his power—flow through him, rippling and coursing as it would. In the small corner of his thoughts that would not be stifled, he knew that the pen he'd placed on his desk had lifted and was scribbling something on the unruled pad of paper beneath it, but he tried to avoid focusing on it.

 _Stream of consciousness_ , Uncle Bené's voice seemed to whisper. _Let your gift flow through you. Don't steer it; just keep your grip and allow it to show you what it will. The more you try to direct it, the more you'll miss._

It had taken him a long time to accept that teaching. Passively sitting back and letting his power take control wasn't in his nature. And under most circumstances, even Uncle Bené acknowledged that it shouldn't be. But his "seer sight"—as Uncle Bené called it—followed different rules. As much as he disliked following them, he had to admit that the method worked.

His tune stopped, his eyes flew open, and he got up and walked to the desk. He frowned at the sketch on the page. Now why in the world would he have drawn the cellar door? Bemused, he made his way downstairs until he stood before it. Yes, the rendering was correct in every detail. Now why…?

Hesitantly, Tony turned the knob and wasn't surprised to find it locked. He took in a breath and let it out with a sigh. Manipulating locks had never been _his_ strength, but it was Tia's. He tried the door again, just to be certain that it was indeed locked and not merely stuck. Then he sent a mental call upstairs to his sister.

_I think I got something. But I need your help…_

* * *

Lily hadn't been able to stay long today. She'd murmured some excuse about Ursula having her combing the beach for some sort of mollusk shells she needed for a spell. Any disappointment Zelena felt was overshadowed by the paper bag the young woman had surreptitiously shoved through the pass-through before leaving. She'd done it! And even included both ketchup and honey mustard! For a moment, Zelena felt something that might almost have been gratitude.

Then she moved into the security camera's blind spot beside her bed, shoved the onion rings under her mattress, and flipped idly through one of the mother-to-be magazines, slowly counting off the seconds. When a full twenty minutes elapsed with no orderly bursting in demanding to know the contraband she'd received, she relaxed. Clearly, nobody had been watching the surveillance when Lily had slipped in the bag. She reached under her mattress and retrieved the bag, removing the condiments before calling a small amount of heat into it. She didn't want the fragrance to waft outside her cell, but she really would rather not eat cold onion rings.

A moment later, she was dipping a ring into honey mustard and chewing contentedly. She meant to savor this treat to its fullest. After all, receiving this gift was probably going to be the most exciting thing to happen to her today…

* * *

Rumple did his best to remain calm, despite his predicament. If nothing else, he wasn't about to allow his captors the opportunity to revel in his fear. The more in control he appeared, the less certain they would be of their power over him. He knew how the game was played.

_What did they want of him?_

He tried to focus on the drive, rather than the tentacle about his waist, pinning his arms to his sides, holding him more securely than the seatbelt they hadn't bothered to fasten about him. While he couldn't see with the sack over his head, he tried to take note of every time the vehicle swerved left or right. Here was the rough patch that Regina had already earmarked for repair, once the threat of heavy snow was lifted for the year. That hard left—did they mean to leave town with him? Doubtful. They were slowing now, turning onto a drive—and not a paved one. And then the car rolled to a stop.

"Home sweet home," Ursula murmured. "At least, temporarily."

"Has he given you any trouble back there, dahling?" Cruella asked pleasantly.

The other woman, the one Cruella had called 'Lily' earlier laughed. "Nah, he's been behaving himself." He felt an elbow dig into his ribs, as she went on, "Haven't you?"

He wasn't even going to try to reply to _that_. He recalled now that the Apprentice had told them that 'Lily' had been the name of Maleficent's daughter. He imagined he could detect a certain resemblance, based on the small bit he'd been able to observe thus far. What was her angle, he wondered.

He felt the seat move as Ursula got out, still keeping her tentacle wrapped about him. Then it jerked him sideways, and he felt a firm pressure on the back of his head. "Careful, there!" Ursula's tone was cheerful, even jocular. "Don't crack your skull on the door frame!"

He seemed to be standing in an open space, going by the way the wind whistled about him. They weren't in town, then. Not that he expected it; they wouldn't have let him out if there were passersby in the vicinity. But he couldn't smell the ocean and he didn't hear any branches rustling, as the tentacle jerked him forward again. Now where…?

He heard hinges creek and a slam of wood against concrete as a door slammed open a few feet away.

_A storm cellar door._

And then his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach and began to pound as his mouth went dry and his blood began to roar. He knew where he was.

Rumple forgot about going along with whatever the three women had in mind. Gone was any thought of putting on a brave face or maintaining his dignity. He didn't care that he was bound and blindfolded and that escape was virtually impossible. All he knew was that they were _not_ putting him back down there.

Lacing his fingers together, he plowed his tied hands into Ursula's midsection and was rewarded by a grunt, as she doubled over and her tentacle released him. He couldn't see where the others were, but he turned and tried to run—normally an impossible feat for him with his ankle, but adrenaline could allow one to accomplish physical acts of which one might not normally be capable. Maybe he couldn't see where he was going, but if he recalled correctly, this field wasn't fenced. If he could just make it to the road, then there was a chance that—

His foot struck something—an exposed root, a rock, the handle of a discarded farm implement, he never knew. But he pitched forward, landing heavily on the snowy ground, and a moment later, two pairs of hands had seized hold of him by his arms and hauled him to his feet. "Got you!" Lily snarled, close to his ear. Then, "Stop struggling!"

He was past listening, past obedience, past everything but the need to get away before they locked him back in that cage. But despite his efforts, they half carried, half dragged him across the field and through the doorway. Someone pulled the doors shut, cutting off all sounds from the outside. Then Lily said, "Well, if you want us to let you go _that_ badly…"

With no warning, the hands released their grip, and he pitched forward, shrieking as he tumbled down the dusty wooden stairs, to land in an agonized heap on the cement floor below.

Through his pain and his sobs, he heard footsteps behind him. "Really, Lily dear," Cruella said, "you shouldn't go breaking things we might need later."

The hands were back, and he screamed as they jerked him roughly to his feet, seemingly heedless of his injuries. Then someone pulled the sack off of his head and he found himself face to face with his captors. "Hold still this time," Ursula snapped.

With Lily and Cruella keeping him upright, he didn't have much choice. He whimpered while sea witch's tentacles traveled over him from crown to heel, cold and slimy as they inspected him. Finally, Ursula sighed. "I suppose I'd better fix the worst of the damage," she muttered. "Cruella's right; we might need him yet."

Blue-green smoke surrounded him and he sighed with relief as blood clotted, bones knit back together, and pain receded from crushing to merely agonizing.

His sigh was abruptly choked off when Cruella shoved a scarf into his open mouth. And then Lily passed a second scarf under his chin, holding his jaw closed, as she tied tightly above his head. The sack came down again and they dragged him to the cage. And then someone pressed down on his shoulders, forcing him to kneel on the ground. His bound hands were yanked forward, jerked up to what felt roughly like eye level, and held there. They must have looped a cord over one of the ceiling wires and tied it off, he realized. He felt another band of some sort pass about his ankles and tighten.

"We'll be back eventually, dahling," Cruella said, giving the back of his head a light slap. "At least, you can hope so, considering nobody else knows where you are." She giggled. "Do you think they'll even bother looking? Because if they don't, and our plans fall through this evening, well, you might just starve to death before anyone stumbles across you." She giggled again. "I've asked the rats to wait a day or two before they come by for a nibble, but if I were you? I'd really hope that everything goes well for us tonight. Your life probably depends on it."

Rumple heard their receding footsteps, the swinging shut of a mesh door, and the heavy click of some sort of metal lock sliding into place. The wooden stairs creaked again as his captors trooped away. He felt a blast of cold air and the sack's fabric brightened for a moment as the cellar doors swung open again. Then they closed, somewhat less noisily than they had previously, and he heard _that_ bolt slide into place as well, as the fabric went dark.

And now, Rumple began to shake. He tried not to. He had to get ahold of himself, had to calm down, had to keep his wits about him. This wasn't anywhere near as bad as it looked. Yes, he was a captive once more, locked in a place he'd never expected to see again. But he knew he wouldn't be here for long this time. Cruella was wrong. This time, the heroes _would_ notice his absence. This time, they _would_ come looking for him. And they'd find him.

_Wouldn't they?_

* * *

When the initial cramp hit, Zelena's first thought was that she shouldn't have asked Lily to let the onion rings cool after all. Not at room temperature anyway. Her stomach was churning—no, it felt as though it was jabbing her… Jabbing? Her eyes grew wide and her smile wider, as she cupped her hands about her abdomen. The baby! It had to be. Her baby was kicking!

Wait. No, something wasn't right. She thought back to the knowledge she'd studied when she'd had to pose as Snow White's midwife, and to the few details she'd retained skimming those blasted magazines. The child _was_ kicking… but that wasn't supposed to happen until somewhere in her second trimester. She wasn't quite out of her first yet.

"Well, well," she murmured, as she looked down at her belly, "aren't you just the most precocious little—?" She gasped. Her baby bump, just barely protruding that morning, seemed to have doubled in size. What the hell was happening? She got up from the bed, gasping as a wave of nausea hit her and she nearly fell back down. Somehow, she staggered to her cell door.

"Nurse! Nurse!" she called frantically. "I need help!"

* * *

"Lily?" Ursula's tone was serious, with an undercurrent of anger, as they headed into the farmhouse. "What the hell was that back there?"

Lily lifted her eyebrows. "Can you be a little more specific?"

"A little more—?" Ursula caught her breath. Then her nostrils flared and her chin jutted forward. "All right. Keeping Rumple under lock and key is one thing. Dropping him down a flight of stairs is something else."

"Hey, I wasn't doing it alone," Lily shrugged.

"Well, actually, dahling," Cruella said, "I wasn't expecting you to release him right at the edge like that. When he pitched forward, I had to either let go or tumble down with him. I just made the pragmatic choice. But you, dahling? If I didn't know better, going by your behavior, I'd say you had some personal beef." Her expression turned speculative. "Is that it? Have the two of you got some sordid shared past you've been hiding from us?"

Lily shook her head. "I've never met him before. But, in a way, I guess you're right. That book of mine," she shrugged the shoulder from which her knapsack dangled by one strap, "it went a long way toward telling me who I was and what my place is in the world. Or would have been. You know that this town was created through a Dark Curse, right?"

Ursula and Cruella exchanged a quick look. "I suppose we must have. We knew that the curse was coming and we had a general idea of what it would do," Ursula nodded. "Mal told us as much. But we ended up here long before Regina cast it."

"Yeah, Regina might have cast it," Lily nodded back. "But Rumpelstiltskin created it. He wanted to travel to a land without magic and he figured that the curse was the best way. But before it hit, he got Prince Charming to force my mother to swallow a potion. Bottle, I mean. Charming, or maybe I should say 'David', tricked my mom into switching to dragon form and then shoved the bottle down her gullet. That potion is why there's magic here now. The thing is, in order to bring that magic here, Rumpelstiltskin had to get it back. So he sent Emma to kill her and retrieve the bottle." She let out a long breath. "Emma's parents might have made sure that I'd grow up in this land without my mother," she continued. "Emma might have killed her. But none of that would have happened if Rumpelstiltskin hadn't been pulling all the strings. He's been the root cause of all my pain and suffering. Now?" Her jaw hardened. "Now I'm here to make everyone who wronged me pay. And I'm sure as hell not giving the guy in the middle of it all a free pass."

She brushed past Ursula, who took an involuntary step sideways to clear the way. "Let him stew down there for a day or so," Lily ordered. "It'll help ensure he'll be cooperative when we finally get around to using him. Now, if we're all done," she added smartly, "I'm going to go see what's on TV. I need to unwind a little."

The other two women watched as she ascended the farmhouse staircase. "She's her mother's daughter all right," Cruella murmured.

"Yeah," Ursula replied, also in an undertone. "And that's starting to scare me, just a little."

* * *

Bound in the cellar cage, Rumpelstiltskin shivered and shook. He didn't know how long he could last like this. He'd been held captive before, but never like this. When Snow White and Prince David had imprisoned him, he'd allowed himself to be captured. He'd been where he wanted to be. And he'd had his Dark voices whispering at him, reminding him that soon, very soon, everything that he'd worked and slaved and sacrificed for would come to be. Those voices had served another purpose: they had been a buffer to protect him from the depressing reality of his circumstances and surroundings. And, if all else had failed, he could have freed himself with the squid ink at any time.

Similarly, when Zelena had held him, he'd had Bae with him for most of it. The strain of keeping two minds in one skull had been another buffer; he hadn't fully appreciated the severity of his imprisonment until it was almost at an end. And even in those last miserable days, he'd known that release was imminent. Bae had given his life so that his father could tell the heroes who the enemy was. And once they knew, Rumple had recognized that they would defeat her and her defeat would mean his freedom.

But now, he was alone in his head, alone in this cage, bereft of magic, unable to free himself.

_They will find you, you know._

His shoulders felt as though they were on fire. His bones ached, both from the tumble down the cellar steps, and from the damp, cold air seeping in from outside. The straw on which he was kneeling was sharp, its ends poking at his bare skin where his trousers had ridden up above the tops of his stockings. He shifted position as best he could and felt another straw tickle. At least, he _hoped_ it was another straw and not some manner of vermin.

A soft whimper escaped him. How long had he been down here anyway? How long did they mean to keep him confined? What did they want from him? He imagined that Cruella and Ursula were still holding a grudge over that chernabog incident, to say nothing of that debacle with the gauntlet, but he had no idea why Lily had so seemed to revel in hurting him, unless…

_She had Emma's Dark potential combined with her own. In the outside world, such a burden would be difficult enough to bear, but here where magic was powerful, a dragon-scion, particularly one unaware of her true nature would be vulnerable to Dark's influence. And that would be true even were she not carrying the burden of another's baser tendencies._

If his suspicions were correct, Rumple realized that his current predicament was even more precarious than he'd thought.

_They will find you, you know._

He tried to cling to Tia's prediction, but he couldn't help but notice that she hadn't specified who "they" were. Had she been referring to the heroes, _or to his current captors?_

His arms were on fire and he couldn't feel his hands anymore, but he cringed when he felt the tickling sensation again. He couldn't take much more of this. How long had it been since his capture? Had anyone even noticed that he was gone, yet? And if they had, were they looking for him? Or did they assume he'd just gone off on his own somewhere and would be back when he was ready?

He hadn't had time to leave much of a message and the one he'd managed to leave had hardly been straightforward, but maybe…

Maybe.

The wind outside began to howl and he shivered as a draft of cold air filtered through the chinks in the storm cellar walls.

Maybe they were waiting for the weather to die down before they came looking.

Maybe they weren't coming looking at all.

A chill that had nothing to do with the wind wrapped itself about him and he began to shake.

* * *

Zelena's pulse raced as she doubled over in agony. Her maternity dress stretched tight against her abdomen. She'd been calling for help, but nobody seemed to hear her. She'd tried to use her magic to teleport to one of the upper floors—subterfuge be damned—but pain and panic shredded her focus. What the hell had Lily done to her? Well. She knew _what_ , but she didn't know _why_. Another labor cramp seized her—they were coming closer together now, and she screamed.

And then her cell door flew open and the Blue fairy was there and Zelena had never thought she'd be so glad to see her.

"Just lie back, dear," the fairy said gently. "I've already called Dr. Whale. He's on his way."

"What's going on?" Zelena demanded, horrified at the quaver in her voice.

The fairy smiled gently. "It would appear that your child is coming now."

"That's not… possible."

"It would seem that it is," the fairy countered. "We can look into the whys and wherefores later. For now, the important thing is to get that child out of you safely."

"I—"

Whatever she might have said was cut off abruptly as Whale raced into the room. "I'm here," he announced tersely. He gave Blue a look, then turned back to his patient. "How far apart are your contractions?"

Zelena fixed him with a furious look. "I haven't been timing them! They're coming every few min— _Argh_!"

Whale frowned. "All right. Let's have a look." He glanced over his shoulder at Blue. "Help her get undressed and into a robe. Wait." He rummaged in his bag and pulled out a syringe and a vial of medication. "Maybe this is unnecessary," he admitted, "but you're under a lot of stress right now. From what I understand, that cuff you're wearing _should_ keep blocking your magic, but knowing something about how powerful you are, I don't want to take chances."

"What is that?" Zelena demanded, even as Blue set about unfastening the maternity gown.

"Just a sedative," Whale said reassuringly. "To help you stay calm." He shook his head. "I don't know how this happened, but first things first. Make a fist, please." He took her arm and expertly jabbed the needle in.

Zelena had more questions, but before she could voice them, she felt a pleasant warmth radiating from the site of the needle until it filled her entire body. She knew that Blue had gotten her into the gown and removed her lower garments. She heard, as though from some distance away, Whale's voice explaining that he thought it was better to deliver the child here, rather than move her now. And then, he was telling her to push and she wasn't certain that she was obeying until the tense atmosphere was broken by a thin cry.

Whale clasped her arm. "It's a girl," he smiled.

Wan and sweaty, Zelena smiled back. "I want to see her," she said.

"Later," Blue replied, wrapping the wailing infant in a blanket. "Rest now."

"No, please!" Zelena insisted. "Let me hold my daughter." She struggled to rise as she saw Blue turn and head for the door, still holding the baby. "Give her to—!" She broke off, feeling another sharp jab in her arm and turned a disbelieving face to Whale. "Why?" she demanded, her voice thickening and her eyelids already beginning to droop as she sank back to the cot. "Why would y…"

Blue regarded the sleeping witch with a smile. "You've done well, Doctor," she said. "Go home; get some rest. And in the morning, you won't remember any of this."

She carried the baby toward the elevator, paying no mind to the two staffers in scrubs, shower caps, and surgical masks who fell into step behind her. Once all three were in the elevator, though, her smile grew wider. "That was easy enough," she said. "How did you two make out?"

Lily shrugged. "Cruella distracted the security guard long enough for me to get to the camera tapes and substitute some old footage. I didn't have time to really cover our tracks," she admitted, "and without an access code, I can't remote-hack anything, but as far as any normal inspection goes, Zelena never went into labor and we were never here."

Ursula nodded, satisfied. "I'll keep the glamor spell up until we're back at the farmhouse," she said. "We'll pick up some formula on the way."

"We're not going to the vault?" Cruella protested.

"We will. But not yet." Ursula sighed. "We haven't come this far to get sloppy. It's hit me that, while Regina might have a blood magic lock on Rumple's heart, that might not be the only protection on the vault itself. Before I trip some sort of silent alarm, I want to take time to scout out any other defenses—magical or otherwise—that she might have in play. And I'll do better with that after a good night's sleep."

"If it's non-magical," Lily remarked, "I can probably help."

"I'm counting on it." She made a face. "I can't wait to get out of this uniform. Wool is so… itchy."

"Yes, dahling," Cruella agreed. "But sadly, nuns generally don't wear furs. And neither do fairies. Pity. If you kept that glamor spell up a bit longer, you might be able to start a new trend."

Ursula shook her head. "I don't think so," she said wryly. "Let's get out of here."


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In Disney's Robin Hood, only three of the many children in the Rabbit family are named (Sis, Skippy, and Tagalong). I've borrowed one name from Beatrix Potter for a fourth.

**Chapter Thiry-One**

"Well, this is lovely," Snow said, as she placed the salad on the table. "It seems like it's been so long since we could all sit down together and eat as a family."

"Mostly because our newest member seems to keep his own dining schedule," David added, sparing a glance in the direction of the crib where baby Neal lay napping.

"And Henry has after school rehearsals, and the Sheriff Station has paperwork mounting up, and…"

"Always something," Emma smiled at her parents. "Well, we're together now, and since quiet times in Storybrooke never last long, let's just—" She broke off abruptly, feeling her phone vibrate against her hip. "Hang on," she said, rising from her chair and pulling the phone out of her pocket. "It's Belle. I can call her back after supper."

"No," Snow said, smiling. "We can wait. It's not like the salad will get cold."

Emma grinned back and accepted the call. "Belle. What's up?" As she listened, her smile fell away. "Why are you asking—? Never mind. I'll be right over to take a look," she said after too long a pause. "Don't touch anything." She pocketed her phone and stepped back from the table.

"Emma?" David asked.

Emma hesitated. Then she looked at her son. "Henry, when Gold told you to leave early, did he seem… agitated? O-or was he acting, I dunno, suspicious?"

Henry blinked. "No. Why? Mom, what's going on? What did Belle want?"

Emma's eyebrows knit together in a worried frown. "Gold's disappeared. Belle phoned him when she was leaving the library; he was supposed to pick up supper at Granny's for them. When he didn't answer, she went by the shop. She said the door was unlocked, but he wasn't there."

"He wouldn't forget about something like that," David murmured, rising as well. "You think he's in trouble?"

"Belle does," Emma replied. "She called to ask me how to recognize… 'signs of a struggle'. I wasn't sure I could explain over the phone, and if her instincts are right, I need to check it out anyway."

"I'm coming with you," Henry said, already heading for the ladder to his bedroom. "I think I'm the last person who saw him; maybe I'll notice something that wasn't there earlier."

Emma's protest died on her lips. "Good point. Grab your coat and let's go."

"I'll come with you," David said. "If it's sheriff business, I'd rather assess things firsthand than have to be filled in later."

Snow sighed. "I want to go too, but," her gaze flicked toward the crib. "The only two people ready to babysit at a minute's notice are Belle and Granny. Granny's in the middle of the supper rush, and Belle has other things on her mind right now. So," she said, forcing herself to smile, "I guess _I'll_ have to be filled in later."

"We'll be back as quick as we can," David nodded, embracing her and giving her a peck on the cheek before he headed for the coat closet.

* * *

"You're quiet tonight, son," Robin remarked, watching as Roland spooned up his pottage mechanically. "Is everything all right?"

Roland nodded and forced a smile. "Yes, Daddy."

"Roland? Did Skippy say anything to you this afternoon?" His eyes narrowed. "He wasn't picking on you, was he?"

Roland shook his head. "I'm sorry, Daddy. I… guess I just… miss New York. And I liked Billina before she…" He shook his head again. "I'm sorry."

Robin smiled sadly. "No, son, you've nothing to be sorry about. I didn't have an inkling as to Billina's true nature either. And I do believe that you were adjusting to life in the city. To be back here again's another thing to get used to." He frowned. "Have your dreams returned?"

"No," Roland said immediately and sincerely. "The potion's working."

Robin sighed with relief. "That's something anyway. I'll be sure to stop in and tell Rumpelstiltskin when next I go into town." Roland flinched at that and Robin sighed once more, this time with a note of mild exasperation. "He did help you, you know," he said. "If nothing else, we do owe him a debt of gratitude. And our thanks."

Roland seemed to find the bottom of his pottage bowl inordinately fascinating. "Yes, Daddy," he murmured, slumping a bit on his wooden stool. "M-may I be excused please?"

Robin nodded. "Go on, then. And mind you help Friar Tuck with the dishes."

"Yes, Daddy."

* * *

"I haven't touched anything," Belle murmured, as she led Emma, David, and Henry into the back room. "I was afraid I might accidentally upset something you needed."

"Good call," Emma nodded, taking in the scattered papers and broken knickknacks on the floor by the work table. "Does anything seem to be missing?"

Belle shook her head. "I don't think so, but I don't know everything he had back here. I… I haven't spent a lot of time in the shop since we came back."

Emma had witnessed first-hand Gold's destructive temper on one occasion already. The mess on the floor didn't look anywhere near extensive enough. Still, she had to cover all bases. "How was he when he let you go early?" she asked Henry. "I mean, did he seem angry or frustrated or anything?"

"No," Henry said, sounding more than a little surprised. "He was… good. Seriously."

"Okay." She thought for a moment. "Why don't you have a look out front? Maybe you'll notice something different from when you were here before."

Henry nodded and headed back to the shop floor.

Meanwhile, David had spotted something else. "The back door was unlatched when you got here?" He asked.

Belle's eyes widened. "I didn't notice that. H-he'd never have left without locking the front door, but I don't know that I've ever seen him unlock the back, not for anything."

"Check the alley?" Emma suggested.

David nodded. "Anyone have a flashlight?" he smiled apologetically. "We came straight from the loft. I didn't think to stop off at the sheriff station for our gear."

Belle nodded. "In the front. Rumple keeps one behind the counter. I'll get—"

"Mom! MOM!" Henry dashed back into the office, clutching a piece of notepaper. "He's in trouble! Look!"

Emma reached for the paper, looked at it and frowned. "Henry… this is just a takeout order. For Granny's, from the look of it."

Belle nodded. "He was going to order supper from there once I was ready to leave the library," she confirmed.

"No, Mom. It's not. Look at the last item!"

Emma blinked. "I don't get it. Why would you think…?"

"Because Grandpa's watched us perform that scene in the play twice. He knows it's code for 'adventure'. And in the play, the 'adventure' part comes in when Cornelius and Barnaby are in danger. Sort of. I mean, it's about as close as you can get to it."

Emma blinked again. " _Pudding_? Seriously?" She looked at the list again. "Just because 'pudding' is a code-word in your play doesn't mean he wasn't planning to order some from Granny's."

"It does when she doesn't serve it," Henry insisted. "Go on. Call her and ask."

"You don't have to," David spoke up. "I think he's right." His expression was grim, as he held something up so that they could all see it. "I was checking to see what I could find outside, just using the light from in here, and…"

Belle grew several shades paler. "Rumple would never have gone anywhere willingly without his cane," she said, almost whispering. "Something's happened to him."

"You mean," Emma said, just as softly, "Someone's taken him."

* * *

"This doesn't look like the way back to the farmhouse," Ursula said.

"That's because it's not, dahling." Cruella kept her eyes on the road. "I don't know if you've forgotten, but that place isn't exactly what you can call private. Even if Zelena's less intelligent than we think she is and doesn't figure out that we doctored up those onion rings, once that sedative you had the doctor give her wears off, she's going to be looking in on the house. And even if we _could_ walk on eggshells constantly and not say anything that might tip our hand to her, we'll be hard-put to explain the presence of that tiny creature in Lily's arms. No, my woodland spies have found an empty cabin in these woods. We can stay there for a day or two."

"But what about…?" Ursula's voice trailed off.

"What about what?" Lily asked.

"Well we'll have to feed him eventually, won't we?" Ursula muttered.

"Sure, but he'll keep overnight." Lily made a scoffing sound. "Please tell me you're not going soft on us."

"Don't be ridiculous," Ursula retorted. "I'm just a bit concerned about someone dying on us before we can make use of him."

"This is getting tedious," Cruella snapped. "I don't recall your showing much concern for that pirate's well-being when you were sending a little payback his way, and if you ask me, you've got just as much reason to exact retribution on Rumple, if not more."

"I _didn't_ ask you. And I haven't done anything to Hook that put him in any real danger either."

Cruella sniffed. "Maybe you _are_ going soft, at that. Well. No matter, dahling. If you'd like to stay behind and nurture the infant, Lilith and I will poke about town tomorrow. We just need your glamor spell."

"Not really," Lily said speculatively. "In winter coats, hats pulled down, scarves covering our faces… We might just be able to get by without magic." Her voice turned colder. "Though the spell would make things easier. I mean, if we did get caught, I'm sure we'd be questioned. And if I got nervous, who knows what I might let slip out? About who else is with me and where to find them?"

"Are you threatening me?" Ursula demanded.

"No. Just pointing out that keeping up our alliance is probably the smartest thing _any_ of us can do. Right?"

Ursula sighed and told herself that Lily had made several valid points. Going without supper oughtn't to hurt Rumple too much more than what they'd already done to him. He was probably fine—relatively speaking, anyway—where he was. And, at least for now, _she_ was probably fine or—at least—better off with Lily and Cruella than without them. Or, more dangerously, opposing them. "Right," she said resignedly.

* * *

In the shop, Belle held a small, opaque vial over a shallow clay bowl and tilted it. A sprinkling of muddy green liquid dropped into the bowl. Belle sucked in her breath and gave the vial a shake. A single droplet more fell in. Belle set down the vial with shaking hands and dashed once more to the sliding-door cabinet beneath the counter. "No," she whispered. "No, please!"

"Belle?"

She looked at Emma despairingly. "There… there isn't any more hippogriff spittle. Without it, I can't make the locator spell."

"Maybe at the house?" David suggested.

Belle nodded. "I suppose so. Let me," she gave the others a wan smile, "let me see if I have everything else." She made her way back to the table and reread the spell recipe. Her face fell. "It won't work," she groaned.

"What do you mean?" Emma asked.

Belle stabbed her finger on a line of spidery script. "It won't work because I need fresh hound's tooth, and Rumple's preservation spells wore off when he died!" she exclaimed. "I don't know how to renew them. Only he does!" Her eyes opened very wide. "Unless…"

"Belle?" Emma asked.

Belle closed her eyes. There _was_ someone else who might be able to renew the spell. Or might be able to supply the ingredient. But talking to her would be harder than talking to Granny. She could ask one of the others to place the call. They would. But they'd also think she was being silly. And they'd ask her whether Rumple's life was worth her pride. And they'd think… No. It wasn't about what they _would_ think. It was about what _she_ thought—no _what she knew_. Rumple was in danger and she had to stop acting like a silly spoiled child. She had to stop expecting everyone around her to step in and do what needed doing. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and took a breath. This… wasn't going to be easy.

 _But heroes don't do what's easy. They do what's_ right _._

Once, long ago, she'd prioritized a memory rock over a new friend. She'd thought she'd learned better since. But here she was now, about to prioritize her hurt feelings over her husband's safety. Enough. She'd let this go on long enough. _Enough._ She took another breath, opened the phone, and brought up her address book. "Regina?" she began hesitantly. "I… I was wondering if you happened to have any f-fresh hound's tooth? And, perhaps, some hippogriff spittle…?"

* * *

Regina heard Belle out in silence and it was another long moment before she replied. "Well," she said finally, "I do have those items. And, while I'm happy to donate them, you ought to know, that potion takes about six hours to brew."

"I-I know," Belle said, not hiding her relief. "But what choice have we got? It's our best chance to find him."

"Most accurate, I quite agree," Regina countered. "But it may not necessarily be the fastest. And if Rumple's in danger, then time might be of the essence."

"What are you suggesting?"

She could hear the smile in Regina's voice. "Just that an experienced tracker may be able to find him quicker. And while he's working on that, you can work on that potion." She hesitated. "Or I could. Granted, it's been a long time since I tried, and it probably won't be a powerful as one that Rumple might have brewed, but it should get the job done."

Belle felt a surge of her old resentment. She'd specifically asked Regina for the ingredients because she wanted to do something to save Rumple herself, not foist the job off on others. She didn't need anyone lifting that burden off of her shoulders! She…

… _Wanted Rumple home safe, and Regina's suggestions made sense._ What was more important: for Rumple to be all right, or for her to be the one to save him? She took a breath and told herself that by involving Regina, she probably _was_ the one saving him. "We'll work on it together," she said firmly.

"All right," Regina agreed, sounding pleasantly surprised. The queen's voice turned serious. "Belle, I know it couldn't have been easy for you to call me after everything that's happened between us. I appreciate that you did."

Belle pressed her lips together for a moment. "That's… not important now," she said, trying to keep her emotions in check. "Rumple needs help. Our help."

She was certain that Regina could hear the hint of a sob in her voice, but all the queen said was, "I'll head for my vault as soon as I call Robin. Meet me there. Oh, and if you're heading in that direction now, I'd leave the shop keys with Emma or David. Robin might want to look around and see if he can find some hint of where to start searching and I shouldn't think you'd want to leave the shop unlocked overnight."

"No, I wouldn't," Belle agreed. "I'll be there in about twenty minutes."

"I'll expect you."

* * *

Roland wasn't yet able to fletch his own arrows, but he had learned how to properly trim the feathers that would grace their shafts. His expression was serious as he trimmed a quarter inch from the vane of a goose feather, then reached for another.

He heard the tent flap unzip and looked up as a gust of cold air blew in, his father just behind it. "Time for your medicine, son. And then bed."

Roland nodded and began to gather up his supplies. Robin picked up one feather and examined it approvingly. "You're becoming quite the expert, son," he said, smiling. He strode to a wooden cabinet, opened it, and began lifting out various pieces of equipment. Roland's eyes widened when he saw his father set down a flashlight, a compass, and a first aid kit. It wasn't until a flare gun joined the pile that he drew in his breath. "You're going out? Now?"

Robin turned to him with a smile. "Little John will check in on you. I'll be back by morning, I should think."

"But where are you going?"

Robin hesitated. "It would seem that Rumpelstiltskin has gone missing."

Roland felt his hands start to shake and he quickly sat upon them. His father smiled sadly. "I doubt he's up to any ill scheme," he reassured him. "In truth, to hear Emma and Belle tell it, he's likely in need of assistance. I'm off to town to see whether I can find his trail."

Roland closed his eyes and took several long slow breaths.

"Roland?" Robin crouched down to his son's level and rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Roland, it's all right. You're in no danger. Not from Rumpelstiltskin, nor anyone else. You're safe here."

Roland's only response was to screw his eyes more tightly shut, while his breathing grew faster.

"Roland?"

A tear leaked past his closed eyes and he opened them to see his father gazing at him with love and concern. "Daddy, y-you don't have to go to town," he whispered.

"Of course I do," Robin answered, with no small surprise. "If there's a man in need of help, it's my duty to provide it. I thought you understood that."

Roland closed his eyes once more. "I-I do," he whispered. "That's why you don't have to go to town." He took another breath. "I know where he is."

* * *

_He'd been over at the Lapines, playing with Benjie and Aggie and trying to remember his manners and be polite when Skippy kept pestering them. He didn't know why the older boy kept hanging around and trying to boss his little brother and sister around while acting super nice to_ him _. Although he had a feeling it had something to do with his being Robin Hood's son. Daddy had told him that, back in their old home, Skippy had been trying to join the Merry Men since he'd been younger than Roland was now. Skippy had once told Daddy that he_ slept _with the bow that Daddy had given him for his seventh birthday. (Roland_ knew _how silly that was. What if it poked Skippy in the eye when he rolled over? What if he broke it? But Skippy insisted on keeping it with him, because it was a gift from Daddy.)_

_Skippy made Roland uncomfortable. He didn't know exactly how to put it into words, but he had the distinct impression that Benjie and Aggie were his friends because they enjoyed playing together, but Skippy was his friend because being his friend was one more way for the older boy to get closer to Daddy._

_Still, even if Roland didn't like the way Skippy always hung around him, he had to admit that some games—like tag—were more fun when there were more players._

_Skippy had been 'it' and Roland had been laughing as he scrambled away. He sensed that Skippy didn't actually want to tag him, for all he was chasing after him. Wouldn't do to beat Robin Hood's son, after all. And because Roland was having fun, and because part of him thought that if Skippy was rigging the game in his favor, he might as well enjoy it, he turned and ran—not across the Lapines' back yard, but up the packed snow drifts against the fence, nearly as high as the topmost horizontal logs. He didn't have the best balance, but the logs were wide and he'd crossed many a stream this way in their old home._

_"You can't keep this up forever!" Skippy had called behind him, tramping through the drifts himself, though not attempting the fence._

_"Just gotta be faster than YOU!" Roland yelled over his shoulder. The Lapines had a speckled alder growing in one corner of the yard, one of its branches overhanging the fence, and while it wasn't a very tall tree, it was tall enough and Roland was a good climber—this, despite Daddy having forbidden him to scale any tree taller than he was unless Daddy or one of the Merry Men was watching. Roland didn't care about that now. Laughing, the young boy ran toward it and, on reaching it, swung himself up into the bare branches, scrambling higher._

_He could hear Skippy laughing and cajoling below, but he'd all but forgotten the game. He'd never been up this high in open country. He reached into his coat pocket for the collapsible spyglass that Will Scarlet had given him some days after he and Daddy had returned from New York and peered through the eyepiece. And so, he had a clear view of the farm up the road, where three women he'd never seen before were wrestling a bound man with a sack over his head toward an open storm cellar._

_Roland's eyes widened. The man was wearing a dark suit and fighting hard, despite tied hands and a bad limp. But it was the sprinkling of snow on the man's shoulder that made his heart pound and his mouth go dry._

_That day in the forest, when Rumpelstiltskin had threatened him, trapped him in a rut and turned Daddy's own arrow toward him… Rumpelstiltskin had worn a similar suit then, and there had been a white stain in nearly the same spot. That suit had been torn and filthy, but the man wearing it had been about the height of the struggling captive._

_He shrank back, lost his footing, and tumbled from his perch into one of the banked snowdrifts._

_"Roland!" Skippy was bending over him. "Roland, are you okay? Roland!"_

_Slightly dazed, Roland struggled to sit up—not easy, since the snow had sunk beneath him when he'd landed—a near perfect imprint. For once, he was grateful when Skippy helped him._

_"You okay?" Skippy asked again, once they'd both slid down from the drift._

_Roland nodded. "I… I have to go home," he said quickly._

_"Roland?"_

_But he was already running, pretending he didn't hear Skippy shouting after him, relieved that the older boy was only shouting, and not giving chase. He had to get home. He had to talk to Daddy._

_And then Daddy would be angry that Roland had climbed a tree without a grownup watching._

_Maybe he could leave that part out._

_No, then Daddy would be angry that he'd gotten so close to that farmhouse when he knew he was only supposed to be at the Lapines or on his way back to the forest. The farmhouse was in the opposite direction._

_Roland hated it when his father was mad. Daddy was never mean. He didn't yell or throw things or cuff him. But he'd get that look in his eyes, the look that seemed to say, louder than any words could, "I thought better of you than this. I'm ashamed that my son could behave in this manner. You've let me down."_

_He knew he had to tell what he'd seen, but he didn't know how to get the words out and_ not _get that look. So he thought about it. He thought about it while he picked at dinner. He thought about it while he stared with glazed eyes at the coloring and activity pages his kindergarten teacher had sent home for him to do over the weekend. He thought about it while he trimmed goose feather for fletching._

 _But it wasn't until Daddy came into the tent to give him his potion and bid him goodnight and goodbye that he finally screwed up his mettle enough to say what he'd been meaning to all afternoon._ "You don't have to go to town… I know where he is."

* * *

"Got it, Regina, thanks," Emma said tersely. "I'll get a few things together and meet you and Belle there."

She ended the call and met her father's inquiring gaze with a sigh that was half relief, half worry. "We caught a break," she said. "According to Robin, Roland saw three women dragging him into Zelena's storm cellar." She cupped her hand over her eyes. "He was tied up with a bag over his head."

"A bag?" David repeated. "How can he know it was Rumpelstiltskin?"

"Have we had any other missing person reports in the last few hours?" Emma demanded. "Or, like, since the fairies got sucked into the hat?"

"Good point." Her father looked around the shop. "I heard you say we needed to gather some things?"

"Uh… yeah," Emma nodded. "His coat's still here; he's going to need that, along with his cane. See if you can find a first aid kit—"

"I think there's one in the patrol car."

"But you're not sure?" Emma asked. "Better grab a spare if we can find it. Blankets. And if you see any food around here while we're looking for that stuff, grab it; who knows if he's eaten anything?"

David nodded. "Uh… slight problem. The back door isn't going to lock. It looks like those three women broke it when they forced their way in. Did Roland recognize them, by the way?"

"I didn't think to ask Regina if Robin mentioned anything." Her eyebrows drew together in a frown. Just who _had_ taken Gold? Zelena was one of the obvious suspects, but she was under lock and key. As for the door… "Give me a hand," she said, bracing herself against a heavy shelfing unit. We can use this for a barricade. Any ideas who might have had enough of a grudge against Gold to pull off something like this?"

David was shaking his head as he moved to assist her. "Try half the town," he murmured. "I guess… I mean, we _know_ he's trying to change, but if word's gotten around that he doesn't have his magic anymore… There could be," he puffed, "a lot of people with old scores to settle." He thought for a moment. "Let's find him first. With any luck, he can tell us. If not," he took a breath, "when you and your mother fell into the Enchanted Forest, Rumpelstiltskin asked my help when Belle went missing. When I gave it and started making inquiries, I got an earful about things he'd done in the past. We can check the files at the sheriff station for my notes if we have to."

Emma nodded, gasping a bit as she and her father shifted the unit the last few inches. That done, she ducked into the bathroom and emerged seconds later, holding a metal first aid kit aloft triumphantly. "Got it. How are you making out?"

"Uh…" David opened a hinged wooden chest. His eyebrows shot up as he reached in and held up a reddish-brown velvet cloak trimmed in brown fur. "I gave this to him a long time ago," he said wonderingly. "At the time, he said he needed it because his castle was drafty."

"The storm cellar doesn't seem like it's going to be very warm," Emma replied. "And that's as good as a blanket. Let's take it."

* * *

Regina's Mercedes was already parked in the field when the patrol car pulled up. As David parked, the Mercedes' doors opened and Belle and Regina emerged. "You made good time," the mayor remarked. The four approached the storm cellar and Regina raised her hand aloft. "I'm not detecting any magic," she said. "It looks like the only thing keeping us out is this." So saying, a burst of white light seemed to explode from the palm of her hand to blast the padlock on the heavy iron bolt. She drew her hand back slightly and the doors swung open.

Belle took a breath. "I think it'll probably be better if just Emma and I go down," she murmured. "The two of you should stay up here in case anyone else shows up."

"Farmhouse is dark," David observed. "But if Rumpelstiltskin is down there, whoever put him there could come back. We'll wait."

* * *

Fear, pain, and falling temperatures had sent Rumple drifting into an uneasy doze, but the sound of the cellar doors flying open shocked him to alertness. The footsteps on the wooden stairs were light; two people. One wearing heels, the other flats. He tried to tamp down the wild hope that rose in his heart. Zelena had played tricks like this, too—pretending to be Belle come to rescue him, and then just when he'd leapt forward to embrace his true love, dropped the glamor spell with a malicious giggle.

In any event, Cruella had been wearing heels earlier.

Crisscrossing beams of bright light stabbed his eyes, even through the burlap of the sack over his head and he whimpered and flinched away as best he could. He thought he heard the soft click of the pull-chain of the ceiling lamp, followed almost at once by a gasp.

"Rumple!"

Belle! Or… was it another glamor-spell trick?

"Hang on!" another voice spoke with grim authority. Then he heard something like a muted thunderclap behind him and the cage rocked. Something small, heavy and metallic hit the concrete floor with a dull thud. "Okay," the second voice—he wanted to believe that it really was Emma, but he knew he wouldn't quite be able to until he could see her—said more gently, though still with an undercurrent of anger. "Okay, sorry about that. We'll have you out in another minute."

Footsteps circled the cage, stopping directly before him. Then that second voice swore softly. "Belle, I think he must've been like this for hours. Once I cut his hands loose, you'd better be ready to catch him."

There was no verbal reply, but he knew at once when he was joined by another in the small space. There were hands at his neck, fussing with the string of the sack.

"We can deal with that in a minute," the second voice spoke again. "Gold, assuming you can hear me, I know your hands are probably numb right now. I gotta tell you, as soon as that cord comes off, they're gonna _hurt_ , so brace yourself."

He tried to nod, but he couldn't be sure whether anyone noticed.

"Easy," the voice went on. "Easy, you're safe. Okay." His hands were suddenly loose and, as predicted, he slumped and would have fallen, had gentle arms not caught him. A sob of relief tried to push its way past his gag. And then, sensation came flooding back as needlepoints of fire seemed to stab at his hands.

"Belle, rub his wrists!" There was an awkward moment where the person holding him—he still didn't entirely trust that it _was_ Belle—struggled to comply while still supporting his torso.

He felt the cord about his ankles loosen and firm hands massaging those joints as well. "Okay. Easy. You're safe now. It's all right. Here."

The bag was off his head, and he was staring at once into Belle's loving blue eyes. And for one glorious moment, everything _was_ all right. And then, even as she held onto him, he saw the joy on her face melt away to be replaced by a cold fury he'd seldom seen before—not in _her_ eyes.

But before he could start to fathom the cause, she was already pulling the scarf from his mouth, heedless of the saliva trail that followed it and he could feel other hands—Emma's, he surmised—working the knot at the back of his head. And then Belle was hugging him again, nearly crushing him to her and he pressed his head into her shoulder and sobbed.

"Y-you found me," he whispered hoarsely.

Emma's hand pressed down on his shoulder. "Did you think we wouldn't?" she asked.

He'd hoped they would. He'd tried to believe they would. He'd wanted to, with every fiber of his being. But… "I must admit that the cage and the cellar gave me pause."

Emma's other hand was on his opposite shoulder. "We brought your cane with us," she murmured. "You about ready to go or do you need a little longer?"

For answer, he scuttled backwards as best he could, still holding onto Belle, grateful when each woman gently took one of his arms and helped him out of the cage. His ankles buckled as they helped him to his feet and Emma quickly bent to the floor to retrieve the cane. "Can you manage?" she asked worriedly. "I can have Dad call for an ambulance if we need a stretcher."

He shook his head. "I don't think that'll be necessary," he said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice, even as his eyes rested on the cage with distaste. He'd sworn once that it would never hold him again. He would not be forsworn a second time. Almost without realizing what he was doing, he dropped to one knee and retrieved several pieces of straw that had probably been stuck to his clothing.

"Rumple?"

He didn't answer at once. Instead, he held a long straw horizontally against the top of his cane. "Too stiff," he muttered. "I-I need a leader."

"A… leader?" Emma repeated blankly.

"A piece of thread or string or…"

Belle had already gently slid out from under his arm. She went back into the cage, stooped down, and picked up something from the floor. "Will this do?" she asked, returning to where he stood.

He took the twine from her with an approving smile. "It will indeed," he replied. He noted that a good part of the cord was bloody from where it had dug into his wrists. "In fact," he added, "I can't think of anything better."

He fastened one end of the twine around his cane and gave it a slow twirl.

"Gold?"

He didn't answer. His focus was on the spin, as he continued to wind the twine with one hand, letting the free end rest between the index and middle fingers of his other, while holding the straws tightly between the other two fingers. He wasn't overly surprised when the twine started to glow golden—blood had a way of strengthening most spells, even those spells that did not fall under the 'blood magic' designation. When he had less than two inches of twine dangling free, he quickly plucked one straw loose and held it, overlapping, against the end of the twine. The straw twisted into the spin, following the leader and winding about the cane. He repeated it with a second straw, as the winding cord glowed brighter. As he added the third, he said with deceptive mildness, "I do believe it would be best for the two of you to back toward the stairs. Don't bother assisting me. I'll manage." He couldn't risk their efforts shattering his focus or his spin, not when the forces he was controlling had reached this pitch. It was only three feet or so to the cellar steps, but it seemed to take an eternity before the backs of his legs bumped against the bottommost stair.

"Savior," he said calmly, "you might want to throw up a protection spell the instant this cane leaves my hand."

"Uh, sure," Emma returned and he knew she'd noticed what he'd just called her.

He took another breath. Then he flung the cane back toward the cage as though it were a javelin. "NOW!"

In the shadowy cellar light, he saw the faint shimmer of the protection spell in the instant before his cane crashed into the mesh side of the cage. The cage exploded, sending a hurricane of metal shards and wood splinters flying about the cellar. Behind him, Rumple heard the others shriek and he wasn't entirely certain he hadn't joined them. Then the debris settled and he exhaled and sank to the dusty wooden step.

"Are you okay down there?" David and Regina's faces peered down at them from the storm cellar entrance. "We heard—"

"We're fine, Dad," Emma called up. She looked at the others. "I think. Are we?"

Belle nodded, as Rumple replied slowly. "Yes. I… do believe we are. Now. But I think I will need some assistance managing these stairs, as I," he smiled wryly, "appear to have misplaced my cane."

Wordlessly, Belle wrapped her arm about his waist, the ferocity of her embrace belying the warmth of her smile.


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've inserted a snippet from Heartstrings, Chapter 22 here as a flashback. To find out why the cabin is in the state it is, check out Heartstrings, Chapter 45. Aristotle Bolt and Lucas Deranian appear in _Escape to Witch Mountain_ (Disney, 1975). Victor Gannon and Letha Wedge appear in _Return from Witch Mountain_ (Disney, 1978).

**Chapter Thirty-Two**

The wind was starting up again as they emerged from the storm cellar and Rumple sighed with relief when the prince draped something heavy and warm about his shoulders. Then he took a good look at the cloak and gave David a sharp glance.

The prince shrugged. "We found it in the shop. Thought it might be useful."

"How did you get those bruises?" Regina demanded abruptly.

Rumple shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

Emma and Belle exchanged a look. "The… lighting wasn't great down there. I was hoping it might've just been shadows o-or dust—" Whatever else Emma might have said was choked off with a dismayed gasp when an incandescent ball of light appeared in the mayor's hand, illuminating the field—and Rumple's face—as though it were daytime. Neither Regina nor David were quite able to conceal their shock, now that the full extent of the damage was made plain.

"Rumple?" Belle whispered, horror writ large in her eyes.

Rumple closed his. "My… entry into the cellar was attained with less dignity than I would have preferred."

"Explain," David demanded.

Rumple took a breath. "No. As grateful as I am for your assistance," he opened his eyes again and rested his gaze on each of the four in turn, "and I _am_ grateful," he added in a softer voice, "this isn't your concern."

"Gold," Emma said, "if the people who nabbed you did this to you, then… then I have to get photos. The prosecution will need them to build their case."

Rumple laughed harshly. "Due process?" He demanded. "Here? That hasn't been the norm since your mother was accused of murder."

"Maybe it should be," Regina cut in.

"No," Rumple said, shaking his head. "I'll deal with this myself."

"Then," Emma said, not missing a beat, "I still have to get photos. The defense will need them to build _their_ case."

Rumple flinched. "I beg your pardon?" he snapped.

Suddenly, there seemed to be too many people in too small a space. Emma shot her father a quick pleading look and made the slightest gesture to indicate that he step away. She smiled her relief when he did, motioning Regina to follow him. Then she wiped her hands on the bottom of her jacket and took a breath. "I know I'm stating the obvious," she said finally, "but sometimes I guess you have to. You didn't deserve what just happened and the people responsible _are_ going to pay. But it's going to happen in a court. We—all of us, including you—can hash out the details. Whether it's a jury trial, o-or a council, or I-I don't even know how it might've worked back in the Enchanted Forest, but we'll figure something out. But if you do this on your own," she closed her eyes and fought to keep her voice steady, "I'm still the sheriff. I'm going to have to bring you in. Not because I think you're wrong, but because right or wrong, you still can't take the law into your own hands."

"You can't be serious."

"I wish I wasn't," Emma said, meeting his eyes once more. "But I am. Both about bringing you in, and about giving those photos to your attorney." She locked her eyes on his. "I know the shape you were in when we found you. I get why you want to hit back, and I can't blame you for it. If I weren't law enforcement here, I might even cheer you on." She took a breath. "You used Light magic to blast the cage. Belle and I both saw it. You've come a long way from the guy who tried to trick me into the hat and crush Killian's heart. I-I'd hate to see you throw all of that away now. But that's not my call; it's yours," she added seriously. "If you want to handle this your way, when the time comes to face the music, I'll testify on your behalf if you need me to. I'm no lawyer, but if they want me, I'll happily help your defense team look up every law and precedent that might help. Because seriously? If I were in your place, I'd probably want to do exactly what you want, but if I actually did it… You always say that magic comes with a price. Even if you're using it for the best of reasons?" She added, her voice rising on an interrogative note. When Rumple nodded, she sighed. "It's not only magic." She put a hesitant hand on his shoulder, and while he shook his head irritably, she noticed that he didn't try to evade her grasp. "You're the only person who can decide if it's worth it." She smiled sadly. "That doesn't mean you have to make that decision tonight. Or alone. Again, it's your call."

Rumple's eyes seemed to bore into hers, searching, probing for something. A sign of weakness? Some sort of confirmation? Emma didn't know. Then, abruptly, he twisted free, both of her grasp and of Belle's and staggered toward the rail fence.

"Rumple?" Belle started to follow. Emma held her back.

"Wait. Let him… try to work this out himself."

Belle seemed about to protest, but she waited until Rumple reached the fence and watched him stand, his face tilted toward the moonlit sky, both hands resting on one squared-off wooden post. She observed him silently for several minutes before she muttered at a volume Emma suspected she was meant to overhear, "Because that's always gone so well in the past."

"He's not the Dark One anymore, Belle," Emma reminded her.

Belle sighed. "I know," she said a bit more audibly. "I…" She took a breath. "You knew he'd want to make whoever did this pay, didn't you?"

"It crossed my mind," Emma admitted. "I was… sort of hashing out what to say in my head on the drive over, but I didn't know how it was going to sound once it came out. And I didn't know about the bruises," she added. "I had to improvise that part."

Belle nodded. "I was worried, too. Because until now, every time he's wanted to do something… well… wrong… I-I've left him. Or threatened to. And as much as _I'm_ trying to change, I didn't know if I could just let him have his revenge. I mean, Good doesn't exact vengeance, but I don't want whoever did this to get away with it either, and I didn't see how to stand by him without condoning…"

Emma hesitated. "I… guess it just comes down to supporting _him_ , even when you can't support all his choices. Hopefully. I mean, if this backfires, I'll be kicking myself. But from everything he's told us before, support from anyone around him isn't something he's ever felt able to count on in the past. Maybe now, he—"

Belle nudged her and jerked her head toward the fence. Rumple was coming back. He was leaning on a wooden stake, the sort one might use in a vegetable garden to train beans or tomatoes—Emma realized now that she could see several like it leaning against the fence where he'd been standing. His bruises were stark in the moonlight. There was no way to read his expression. When he reached them, he looked from Belle to Emma.

"These photographs," he said slowly, "you mean to use them to build a case?"

Emma nodded. "Maybe not me personally, but whoever's involved in the trial will." She delicately avoided mentioning who might be on trial. She doubted he'd already forgotten their earlier conversation.

Rumple gave her the slightest answering nod in return. "They won't be shown to anyone not directly involved with said case?"

"Not unless you authorize it in writing."

He took another breath. "What about the _Mirror_? I mean, well, this _is_ news, is it not? How much do you intend to divulge?"

Emma made a show of looking from left to right. "I don't see any reporters hanging around, do you? As far as I'm concerned, at this point, nothing anybody else needs to know happened tonight." Under her breath, she added, "Being too open about stuff might even hurt the investigation."

Rumple nodded, a faint, relieved smile ghosting across his face. "Very well," he allowed. "If this must be done, then I suppose we'd best repair to the sheriff station. You'll have better lighting there. And, no doubt, numerous questions to ask of me." He held up a warning hand, as Emma and Belle started to smile. "Don't hope too far," he cautioned. "I don't promise to stay this course you're charting me through to the finish. But for now… I'll try this your way. And trust that justice prevails."

As they made their way back to the others, Belle wrapped an arm about his shoulders and shot Emma a quick, wondering smile.

* * *

Had the prince not been in the patrol car beside his daughter, Rumple might have broken down again in the back seat, as he had in the cage. So much had happened in the last hour, so much of it unexpected.

He wondered whether Belle knew she was still holding his hand. He prayed she had no plans to release it anytime soon.

As much as he'd hoped for rescue, to say he'd expected it was something of a stretch. In fact, even when Belle and Emma had found him in the cellar, he still hadn't been certain that they were there to free him, and not—as so many had in the past—merely to ask his help and abandon him to his captivity once more. He hadn't wanted to think that such might be the case, but precedent was a powerful thing and difficult to discount altogether.

He'd never been good at talking about his troubles. Not even to Emma. Not even to Bae. Not even to Belle. He'd learned early that people only tended to concern themselves with his needs and wants in order to obtain what _they_ needed and wanted from him. Once he'd accepted that reality, it had made it so much easier to strike his deals and bargains. If nobody cared about him except insofar as they could make use of him, he certainly didn't need to care about anybody else, except insofar as he might make use of them.

After the battle with Zelena, after he'd been denied his opportunity for vengeance, his pent-up anger, frustration, and exhaustion had actually managed to extract an emotional… well, if not quite a _plea_ , it had at least been an appeal. _"She killed my son!"_ Even if he hadn't articulated it, even if he hadn't truly realized it until now, he'd really been asking for some level of empathy or understanding. Some acknowledgment of what the witch had cost him. Some assurance that her deeds would not go unpunished. Even now, he couldn't quite repress a scowl at the response Regina had given him instead.

_How many lives have we taken trying to get what we want?_

Yes, he'd flung that same line at her over a year ago at her mother's funeral, but he'd at least had the decency to express his condolences first. To have the sentiment cast back at him then had only hammered home the truth that, so far as the Heroes were concerned, his pain was inconsequential, his sorrows meaningless, and his grievances beneath redress. If he didn't safeguard his own interests, nobody would.

Apologies had come later, both from Emma and Regina. And later still, from a number of others. But while he'd accepted them when offered, he'd known that unless a similar situation presented itself again, unless when it did, those who'd wronged him in the past would behave differently now than they had on earlier occasions, those apologies were little more than lip service.

Tonight had been different. Tonight, they'd come for him. Tonight, they'd rescued him without pressing him for favors or information. Tonight, they'd _cared_. And tonight, he truly believed that they—or, at the very least, Emma—would still be in his corner, even if he did decide to take matters into his own hands.

He'd thought he'd have to. Since his return from New York, he'd been trying to do better, trying to make amends for his past, trying to take the second chance that had been offered, but at the back of his mind, he knew that he was bound to fail sooner or later, and then he'd be back to being the town pariah once more. And this time, it would be far worse, because he'd truly appreciate the friendship and camaraderie now lost. Oh, things had been going well until this point, but nothing good ever lasted. And if the Heroes meant to waggle their fingers disapprovingly at those who had abducted him, then welcome them into the neighborhood and offer them an automatic second chance, because 'Good didn't exact vengeance', well, _trying_ to be good wasn't quite the same as actually achieving it. And if Good could disregard his grievances, then he was done with it. True, his magic was currently unreliable and unpredictable, but he was slowly getting a handle on it. There was no doubt in his mind that he would remaster it soon enough.

But Emma had made it clear that she was still on his side. That she would continue be on his side, even if his attempts to be a better person fell short of the mark. That even if she couldn't condone the actions he was prepared to undertake, she understood them and she wasn't horrified that he was hardly prepared to let bygones be bygones.

And Belle… Belle had been listening to all of it. And now, even after what she'd heard, she wasn't trying to force him to set aside his desire for justice. She wasn't threatening to leave him if he couldn't forgive what had been done to him. She was still holding his hand, still beside him, even though she knew better than anyone the depths to which he could sink. She wasn't giving up on him.

A glance out the window told him that they were almost at the sheriff station and, despite himself, Rumple felt his heart quicken. This wasn't going to be easy.

There was a firm, almost painful pressure on his hand and he turned to Belle, startled. "Are you okay?" she asked softly.

He nodded. Tonight he was. He'd worry about tomorrow when it came.

* * *

Snow hung up the phone with a sigh of relief and turned to Henry. "They got him out," she said.

"He's okay?" Henry asked eagerly.

Snow hesitated. She'd asked David that same question and, even though his answer had been in the affirmative, his tone had indicated otherwise. "He's at the sheriff station now," Snow said, "giving a statement."

"But he's okay," Henry repeated, making it more a statement than a question this time.

Snow bit her lip. "Your grandfather thinks he will be."

Henry slumped down at the table. "I shouldn't have let Mom drop me back here. I should've gone with them."

"And if whoever took Rumpelstiltskin had been there?"

"I can take care of myself!"

"Your mother didn't want to take that chance and I don't blame her." She let out a sigh. "And I wish I could have gone too," she admitted.

"It's the waiting," Henry muttered. "The waiting and… and everyone still acting like they have to protect me from hearing bad news. I wish you'd all just tell me stuff already. If I know, I can deal. It's when I don't know that I start imagining all kinds of things that could be wrong."

Snow nodded. "I used to be that way too," she admitted. And when Henry shot her a disbelieving look, she sat down at the table beside him with a sigh. "Why do you think I fight so hard to not give up hope? If I believe that things will work out for the best, then I'm better able to notice when they start to." She closed her eyes. "I'm worried, too."

"If it was really bad," Henry said after a moment, "Grandpa would've said, right?"

"I hope so." She took another breath. "It's late. You should start getting ready for bed."

Henry got up reluctantly.

"I'll wake you if I hear anything else."

"Good _or_ bad?"

Snow nodded. "Good or bad. But let's focus on good."

Henry smiled. "Thanks, Grandma."

* * *

Rumple wondered whether David realized that he'd positioned himself so that, as they made their way into the sheriff station, his body blocked Rumple's view of the holding cells. Deliberate gesture or not, he was just as glad not to have to face any more cages right now.

Emma cleared her throat. "I… guess we'd better get the pictures out of the way, first. Then I can take care of those bruises. And then, if you're up for it, I'd like to get a statement from you about what happened. If you're not, that last bit can wait a day or so, but it's better to take care of it while the details are still fresh."

"Believe me, dearie," Rumple snorted, "I'm not about to forget what was done to me today."

"I know. But we should just… deal with all of this quickly so we can get it over with, right?" She pulled open a wooden door and flicked the light switch just inside the room beyond, revealing an interview room. "Okay, close the shade," she gestured to the Venetian blind covering the glass window that faced out on the corridor, "and, I guess, knock when you're ready. Uh…" she hesitated. "Would you be more comfortable if it was my dad taking the photos?"

Rumple shook his head slightly. "No. But thank you for asking," he added with a smile he rather suspected was more nervous than he'd have liked. While he no longer had the need to go about in dragon-hide armor, his expensive suits denoted wealth, comfort, and status that were a defense all their own. Today's ordeal had made it clear to him just how unsafe he was without his magic. And now, he was about to shed the last layer of protection he had. He had no wish to appear defenseless and exposed, but if he had to, then he'd prefer to do so before someone who had already seen him at his lowest ebb and stood by him, supporting—not pitying—him. No, he didn't want to go through this ordeal, but if it needed to be done, then better Emma be the one to do it.

"Okay," she said. "I'll wait for your knock." She hesitated again and Rumple was surprised to see a faint flush rising to her cheeks. "Um… just to be clear… Sorry, I can't think of a-a a more… um… tactful way to say it. You…"

It wasn't just her cheeks, now. The tips of her ears were practically _glowing_ pink. "Sheriff?"

"You can keep your undershorts on," she mumbled, staring very hard at the space on the floor between her shoes.

"Ah. Well," he said dryly, "I'm delighted to hear _that_. Expect my knock momentarily." He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

On the whole, he reflected, he rather thought he'd done a better job of hiding his relief than the sheriff had her embarrassment. He twisted the rod on the window blind to close the slats.

* * *

Half an hour later, Emma emerged from the interview room, her face set in a grim mask. Belle rose from her seat at once, while David looked at his daughter expectantly.

"Well?" Belle asked.

Emma took a breath. "He's getting dressed. Then, we'll take a statement. Is Granny's still open? I don't think he's had anything to eat since lunch apart from that energy bar I had in the glove compartment."

"I…" Belle took a breath. "I can go."

"You sure?" Emma asked. "I mean…"

"I know what you mean," Belle sighed. "It's okay. I… haven't eaten either. He was going to get takeout," she reminded them. "How… how is… How bad was it?"

Emma exhaled noisily. "I'm not showing you the pictures," she said. "And I cast a healing spell on him before I came back out here, so the physical damage is gone now. But it was bad."

"What did they do to him?"

"I don't have the details, yet," Emma admitted. "I didn't think asking him when he was in—when he was feeling… vulnerable… was a good idea."

"Of course," Belle replied, a bit chagrined that she hadn't thought of that.

"And we still don't know _who_ ," David said.

" _We_ don't. Hopefully he does. We'll find out soon."

"Emma," David frowned, "about those bruises."

"Look," Emma said tightly, "I didn't ask him how he got them. All I know is that he didn't have them this morning when we had coffee." She cast an apologetic look toward Belle, knowing that the librarian still wasn't happy about their morning meetings. Belle only nodded.

David wasn't finished yet. "Okay," he said, "but did you happen to notice that they looked… old? I'd think that if he'd just gotten them a few hours ago, they wouldn't have faded yet. And those scabbed-over cuts didn't look fresh either."

"I saw," Emma said. "I don't want to jump to conclusions."

"But...?" Belle prompted.

Emma hesitated. "But I don't think I should discuss it now. Maybe there's a better explanation for what I'm thinking."

"What _are_ you thinking?" Belle asked.

Emma shook her head. "I'm thinking that if I'm wrong, I'm going upset you needlessly, because what I'm thinking is… bad. I'm also going to upset _him_ , because I told him I'd keep things confidential."

"I'm his wife!" Belle protested.

"Yeah," Emma nodded. "And I don't want to start getting you worked up with theories and speculations that might be dead wrong. Let's find out what really happened, okay?"

She really, _really_ hoped she was wrong. But she was thinking back to a conversation she'd had with August in New York, back when she'd been trying to puzzle out what Merlin had been thinking in creating that damned hat. That conversation had led them off on a tangent about the overlap between Light and Dark magic…

_"I mean," she'd been saying, "I admit I don't know much about how magic works and maybe I'm a little unclear sometimes on the whole dark-versus-light business if it's not something obvious, like crushing someone's heart. I mean," she said again, "Gold can heal. Which, to me, sounds like it should be light magic. Regina didn't lose her fire spells when she switched sides, which makes sense because fire isn't necessarily good or bad; it's what you do with it."_

_"Just about everything can be like that," August had replied with a nod. "Maybe not healing…" He stopped. "Actually, if you're torturing someone and then you heal them, just so you can keep them alive to hurt them more, then yeah. Even healing."_

She didn't want to jump to conclusions now. But she had a strong suspicion that someone had hurt him _badly_ and then patched him up just enough to keep get him out of danger, but left him injured sufficiently to ensure that he wouldn't be able to attempt escaping his predicament. Then again, it might have been that whoever it was who'd fixed him up simply hadn't been a very _good_ healer and had just done the best they could. But that theory wouldn't explain how he'd gotten those bruises and cuts in the first place, she knew.

She saw the door to the interview room open and forced her mind away from speculation. A moment later, Rumple emerged. His face was haggard, but the bruises that had graced it earlier were gone. And while his suit was still creased, his tie was straight and he'd made some effort to pat his hair into place. He walked toward them, leaning on his cane only slightly more than usual. "I suppose I'm ready for the next step," he said wryly.

"It can wait if you'd prefer," Emma said. "I guess it _has_ been a long day."

Rumple gave her a faint smile. "Thank you, but I'd prefer to, as you mentioned earlier, get this ordeal over with."

"Okay," Emma said, smiling back. "Uh… In that case, Belle's just going to do a run to Granny's. If you tell her what you'd like, she should be back by the time we're done."

Rumple's eyebrows shot up, and he started to reply to that statement, but something about Belle's expression checked him. Instead, he simply smiled at her and said, "Well, if you're certain it won't be any trouble…"

* * *

He appreciated their efforts to make the ordeal seem more like a conversation than an interrogation. Emma had done a fair job of explaining that some questions would be repeated and rephrased in order to make sure that they understood his meaning. He'd noted aloud that it was also a precautionary measure intended to catch answers that might be less than honest. To her credit, Emma had only shrugged and said, "Yeah, that too. Sometimes my superpower goes a little screwy." Then her expression softened. "I know you're not the bad guy in any of this. Seriously. But I don't want some lawyer for the other side poking holes in your statement, assuming this goes to trial."

"A rather large assumption in this town."

"Yeah, well, hope runs in our family." She locked her eyes on his. "If it didn't, I don't think any of us would be here in Maine." She paused for a beat. "Would we?"

Well, he'd certainly never have groomed Regina to cast the curse that had created this place, had he not hoped to find Bae again. He started to nod, but froze as the full import of Emma's declaration crashed over him. _Our_ family. She'd claimed him as such before, but it had always felt like an exaggeration of convenience if not an outright falsehood. At Boston Airport, it had been a means of avoiding what might have been a messy situation, had his terror at shedding Bae's old cloak—and possibly forgetting who he was—triggered an outburst of temper that would almost certainly have seen him hauled off be security, possibly incarcerated, perhaps barred from the airport altogether. In New York, it had been a way to get the hotel desk clerk to check them in and overlook the toll that six weeks of homelessness had exacted on his clothing and hygiene. Even aboard the _Jolly Roger_ , he could have chalked up Emma's assertion to her trying to make his last hours a bit more comfortable with a harmless lie.

She'd just implied—in front of her father—that she counted him as family. _And the prince, while somewhat startled, hadn't protested._

He shook his head. "N-no," he said, unable to completely avoid a stammer. "I suppose not." He took another breath and shifted about a bit in his chair. "All right. Proceed."

David turned on the recorder, cleared his throat, and stated the date, time, and location. "Interview with Rumpelstiltskin," he continued. "Conducted by sheriffs David Nolan and Emma Swan." He nodded in Rumple's direction. "Could you state for us, in your own words, what happened earlier today? Starting from after you dismissed Henry?"

Rumple nodded. "It was a quiet afternoon," he began slowly. "There wasn't much to do, but I still went through the motions of dusting and polishing." He felt the tension in his shoulders ease somewhat as the details sprang into clear focus in his mind. "I knew that Belle would be working late at the library, and I'd thought that we might obtain supper from Granny's this evening…"

* * *

"I can't say I care much for your woodland spies' idea of appropriate shelter," Ursula snapped, after making a thorough inspection of the premises. "I thought my old apartment was a dump, but this…" While the cabin's main room was decent, if a bit dusty, the sole bedroom was a shambles. It looked as though someone had smashed everything that was breakable, and flung about everything else that hadn't been nailed down, in a fit of sheer rage. Breakables included the window pane, which made the room far too cold to sleep in at this time of year, even if they could have found clean bed linens anywhere on the premises.

Cruella sighed. "It's just temporary, dahling, though I agree it leaves a lot to be desired." She kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the sofa. A dreamy smile came to her face. "This is actually rather comfortable. I think I can sleep here quite well."

Lily rolled her eyes. But then she sank into a leather armchair with deep cushions and stretched. "I guess I've bedded down in worse places," she muttered. "Probably ought to start a fire, though." She looked down at the baby in her arms, thought for a moment, and then folded her jacket and placed it in the kitchen sink. "I think she should be okay here," she murmured, depositing the swaddled infant in the basin. "It's not like she'll be sitting up and cracking her head on the faucet."

"Fine, dahling," Cruella waved her off. "Just so long as you keep the brat from squalling."

With chair and sofa claimed, Ursula realized glumly that the only sleeping spaces available for her seemed to be the woven rug and the bathtub. When she opened the bathroom door, she realized her error. No tub. She was _not_ sleeping in a shower stall. And until the other two were ready to turn out the lights, she doubted that the rug was an option at this hour.

She reached for her coat. "I'm going to have another look at Regina's vault," she muttered. "I want to figure out exactly what kind of security she's got."

Lily yawned. "Don't try tripping any non-magical stuff without me," she said.

"As long as you're going out, you might as well pick up something for us to eat," Cruella drawled. "I'm absolutely famished."

"Got money?" Ursula demanded.

Cruella gasped. "Dahling, you know that when my dear husband was arrested, I was turned out of doors with little more than the furs on my back. True I was able to appropriate a paltry sum, but—"

"But it's almost definitely more than I've got. Working at an aquarium isn't exactly a lucrative career and I left to come here without getting my last paycheck."

"Oh, very well," Cruella sighed, reaching into her stylish fur wrap and pulling out a black, beaded purse. "Get some gin while you're at it."

"Not when you're the only one of us with a car," Ursula snapped. "With everything we've set in motion today, we might have to drive off in a hurry."

"I can drive," Lily offered.

"Not in my car, you can't," Cruella said quickly. She turned back to Ursula.

"Fine," she sighed, adding another couple of bills to the small pile in her hand. "Get champagne. We'll need it later. To celebrate our victory."

Ursula raised an eyebrow. "Can't recall the last time I've had one of those," she admitted, but she pocketed the funds without argument. "I might be a while," she added. "Teleporting's risky when you don't know the area very well, and I don't want to chance a sudden appearance where people might spot me."

"Fine, fine," Cruella waved her away. "Just make sure that whatever you bring back is worth the wait."

Ursula didn't bother to dignify _that_ with a reply.

* * *

Tony gently pulled the coverlet up and tucked it about Uncle Bené. The old man hadn't stirred once, apart from the slight rise and fall of his chest that assured the siblings that he was still breathing. "He's in there," Tia said, with a confidence that belied her worried expression. "It's faint, but I still have a sense of him."

" _Very_ faint," Tony nodded. "Does he know we're trying to reach him?"

Tia frowned for a moment, her face intent. "I don't know," she admitted. "It's like his mind jumped realms while his body's still here."

"Astral projection? I didn't know he could do that," Tony murmured.

"I'm not sure he did," Tia replied. "I think it was done _to_ him."

"By who?"

Tia shook her head. "If we can wake him up, maybe he can tell us."

Tony hesitated. "Maybe we should get him to the hospital," he ventured.

"Tony!"

"Tia, this isn't Witch Mountain. These people know we're… different. No matter what their tests show, they're not going to-to-to lock us up somewhere and study us o-or try to use our powers to play the stock market or assassinate some world leader. And maybe they'll know what's wrong!"

Tia closed her eyes. As much as she knew her brother had a point, the idea of involving outsiders didn't sit well with her. Their people preferred keeping to themselves, away from prying eyes and probing questions. And it wasn't like she and Tony hadn't run afoul of those who had sought to exploit their talents upon discovering what the two of them could do. _Lucas Deranian, Aristotle Bolt, Victor Gannon, Letha Wedge…_ Not all people on this world were like that, but enough were. "Let's give it another day or two," she said finally. "Maybe he'll wake up on his own."

She didn't believe her own words, but that wasn't going to stop her from hoping they were still true.

* * *

_Really,_ Rumple thought to himself, _this was beginning to get out of hand._ He'd described his ordeal several times over, and while Emma continued to press him for further details, painful as it was to for him to dwell upon them, frustrating as it was to admit ignorance regarding various aspects of his experience, it was David who seemed to be fixated on one aspect of his account, almost to the point of obsession.

"So," Emma sighed, "they didn't let anything slip about why they grabbed you."

Rumple shook his head. "Nothing. As I related, I have some history with both Ursula and Cruella. Revenge is certainly possible. But they said nothing to confirm it; not to me, nor in discussion with one another."

"And you're sure it was Ursula and Cruella De Vil?" David asked again. "No chance of mistaken identity? Or a glamor spell?"

Rumple struggled to keep his temper under control. "I suppose there's always a chance," he said testily. "Are you suggesting that someone is seeking to frame them for what they did to me, then?"

David held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Now, I didn't say that," he murmured. "I'm just trying to establish that we're not dealing with a case of mistaken identity. I mean, it's not as though anybody else has seen them in town, is it?"

"Actually," Emma spoke up, "Killian's encountered Ursula a few times. She was trying to blackmail him into helping her get some of Gold's spell components."

David's eyes widened. "And you didn't think this was something worth telling us until now?"

Emma felt the heat rise to her face once more. "Uh… sorry?" Belatedly, she wondered whether they should have stopped the recording. She'd need to go back and edit it later. Wait. Would excising parts of the record bring into question the admissibility of Gold's statement in court? Best not to do anything until she could check that.

David shook his head. "Let's say for a minute that this is some elaborate hoax. Who would have the means and motive to try to pass themselves off as those two?"

Emma stopped the recording.

"Okay," she said tersely. "What's up?"

David flinched. "I'm just trying to establish beyond a reasonable doubt that—"

"I think Gold's already done that," Emma pointed out. "Why is it so hard to believe that it's not Ursula and Cruella? And Lily," she added.

"We knew Lily was on her way," David said. "The Apprentice told us that much. But he didn't say a word about those other two."

"So?" Emma demanded.

"So how did they get here? How did they find this place? They sure weren't here during the curse."

"Uh… Dad? You were in a coma for most of the curse. How do you know that they weren't? And even if that's true, when Mom cast it the second time, it brought over a whole bunch of people who weren't here the first time. What's going on?"

David didn't answer. The seconds dragged on as both Emma and Rumple regarded him expectantly. Finally, he took a breath and replied, "The first curse couldn't have brought them to this realm, because they were already here. They fell through the same portal that transported Maleficent's child here, before Storybrooke was ever created. Which means that they should have been out there, with no magic and no idea that this town even existed."

"And yet," Rumple murmured, a slight widening of his eyes the only indication that he'd grasped what the prince was trying to articulate, "here they are."

"How?" Emma asked.

Rumple shook his head slowly. "That," he said drily, "is an excellent question."


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The fishing season in Maine actually begins in March, but the National Marine Fisheries Service doesn't generally visit Storybrooke all that often.

**Chapter Thirty-Three**

Ursula paused for a moment to examine her reflection in the side mirror of a parked car. Satisfied that she once more resembled the misfit schoolgirl, she pushed open the door to Granny's.

She'd stopped by Regina's vault first, but the sight of the Mercedes parked on the gravel path outside it had deterred her from trying to go inside. She didn't want to confront Regina tonight; even on a good day, she wasn't much of a match for the Evil Queen, not on land anyway. Instead, she'd decided to get dinner, then head back to the storm cellar to retrieve the spell components.

She couldn't even convince herself that that was the only reason.

She picked up a paper menu from the holder just inside the door and stepped into line, studying it. Sandwiches were probably a good bet; they hadn't checked the appliances and who knew whether the stove was even working? She couldn't remember if she'd seen a microwave. Hot dogs and hamburgers, she thought to herself. Typical student eats and they wouldn't be overly disgusting eaten cold. She ought to know; she'd done it a few times when she'd only been able to afford lunch at a hotdog cart, but not had enough time left to eat it until her break.

_And maybe an egg sandwich. He could probably manage that with his hands tied._

Her eyebrows drew together in an angry frown. She was _not_ going soft! Just because he was probably cold and hungry and she had no idea when—or if—it would be safe to go back to the cellar once Zelena woke up.

Ursula knew Cruella too well. If she didn't need Rumple, then she wasn't going to trouble herself to feed him. And as for Lily, Ursula had to admit she didn't know her at all. Fine. She'd get him a sandwich. She didn't have to be nice about it. In fact, she meant to advise him that his best chance at surviving any of this was to be as cooperative as possible. He was a smart man. He'd see reason. Giving him a bit of hope now might just help their cause.

She wasn't going soft. She was being smart.

She kept telling herself that as the line moved forward.

* * *

Belle kept her head down and tried to tell herself that nobody cared that she hadn't stepped foot here for weeks. She knew that nobody was staring, that just because customers happened to glance her way didn't mean that they were wondering what had finally brought her back here, but she would have given anything for an invisibility spell right now.

 _Silly_ , she told herself. _If you couldn't be seen, nobody would know you were here to take your order. The person behind you in line would keep stepping into you. Not to mention anyone else who didn't see you blocking their way._

She was at the head of the line now and she fished out the paper Emma had handed her earlier—a scanned copy of the list Rumple had left behind in the shop. (The original was going into the sheriff's files to be used as possible evidence.)

"Belle!" Granny greeted her warmly. "So nice to see you here again!"

Maybe she only imagined every eye in the place turning in her direction as she pushed the page across the counter. "I… uh… have an order here," she murmured.

Granny glanced at the sheet and stabbed her finger on the last item. "I don't generally do pudding," she said. "Though if you want me to whip some up special, give me 24 hours advance notice and I can have it done for you. One quart minimum, mind."

"Oh," Belle flushed, realizing that neither she nor Rumple had looked anything over too thoroughly. He'd just told her that what he'd written down earlier would be fine and she'd asked Emma to give her a copy to take with her. "No, that's all right. I mean, thank you; I'll let Rumple know for future. For tonight, just give me everything else, please."

"Belle?" There was no mistaking the concern behind the older woman's gruff exterior. "You look utterly frazzled. Is everything okay?"

Belle forced herself to smile. "It's just been… a hard night. I'm hoping this will make things easier."

Granny's answering smile was tight. "I'll get the kitchen started on it then. Grab a seat; it'll be about half an hour." Her shrug was only half apologetic. "We're busy this evening."

Belle nodded and turned to make her way to a booth.

"Belle?" Granny called after her. And when Belle stopped and turned back toward the counter, the older woman asked in a slightly lower voice, "I… couldn't help noticing the two orders of fries. I don't meant to pry, but can he still have fried food? I mean, with his heart condition?"

Belle blinked. "Dr. Whale hasn't warned him to avoid anything," she murmured. "And tonight, he's getting whatever he wants."

Granny shrugged. "Okay," she said, doubtfully. "Coming right up."

Belle thanked her and headed toward the booth, sliding into it with a sigh. She barely looked up when a girl still wearing her school uniform practically bolted out of the diner, clutching two large paper bags to her chest.

* * *

How the hell, Ursula asked herself, could they have been so stupid? She'd spoken to the Apprentice. She _knew_ Rumple only had half a heart and that what Regina had done was so radical that neither the Apprentice nor Whale nor Regina knew the long-term prognosis for it. Nor how resilient that half might be under stress.

 _Stress._ They'd left him bound, gagged, caged, and blindfolded in a storm cellar. And while Ursula certainly didn't have any friendly feelings toward the former Dark One, she'd never really enjoyed killing people.

She didn't like Rumpelstiltskin much, but she didn't want him dead either. At least, she told herself firmly, not until they'd gotten as much use out of him as they could. There. That was more like it. She _wasn't_ going soft.

Questioning what they were doing and whether they were on the right track wasn't going soft. Having some concerns about Lily's rapidly-emerging cold-blooded nature wasn't going soft. Feeling that she was rapidly losing control of the situation and getting shunted to the sidelines wasn't…

Enough. _Enough._ The street was deserted. There were no lights on in any of the windows. She spared a quick glance to her left and right. Assured that no cars were coming, she teleported herself back to the farmhouse, materializing inside the barn that had served as a garage for Cruella's car. It was cold inside; Cruella hadn't bothered shutting the door when she'd driven out, and Ursula hugged the food bags more tightly to her chest as she made her way to the storm cellar.

Her breath caught. The cellar doors gaped open and, when she peered down the steps, she could see that someone had turned on the light. Mentally, she rehashed what Rumple's former maid—and current wife had been saying in the restaurant. Or more, what she _hadn't_ said.

When the old busybody had inquired after Rumple's health, Belle hadn't said that he was missing. She'd been upset, yes, but she hadn't been talking like a woman who was frantic over her husband's disappearance. In her mind, she once again heard Belle's reply to Granny Lucas's query about the French fries. _'Tonight, he's getting whatever he wants.'_ Which sounded like…

Ursula set the bags down on the top step and hurried down. Halfway from the bottom, she stopped. The cellar was empty. Rumple was gone. And so was the cage. With mounting dismay, she clambered down the last steps. She didn't remember so many splinters and… She stooped to pick up a short length of metal wire. Wood splinters, wire scraps… The cage wasn't gone after all.

Her own heart was thumping as she turned almost mechanically to the shelves lining the walls. Whatever it was that had destroyed the cage—and she had a few ideas on that—hadn't extended to the spell components. She caught up a burlap sack—perhaps the same one they'd used on Rumple earlier—and began stuffing it with jars, pouches and bottles, taking care that each in turn was still tightly sealed. If any of the substances contained within were to leak and mingle with one another in transit, Ursula had no idea whether she'd survive the trip back to the cabin, or whether there'd be anything left of this town by morning.

A new thought struck her. Rumple had seen them all. He knew who they were—well, perhaps not Lily, but he'd recognize her too if he saw her again. And if he told his liberators about them…

She swore under her breath. She had to get back to the cabin now and tell the others that time was of the essence. They had to break into the vault and get the heart before the entire town came looking for them with crossbows and pitchforks. That was the only sensible play left to them. She knew that.

So. Why was she hesitating? What was it that had her feeling so… conflicted?

* * *

Emma poured a cup of coffee from the carafe and shot Gold a look. "Black, no sugar?" she asked.

Gold shook his head. "Actually, you might put a spoon or two of sugar in, I think," he replied.

Emma nodded and added it. "I'm… trying not to ask you if you're okay for the twentieth time," she murmured as she brought the cup over. "But if there's anything else I can do…?"

He shook his head again. "You've done… a great deal more than you know tonight," he managed, clasping the cup with both hands. "And I suspect you'll have more to accomplish tomorrow." He let out his breath with a sigh. "When I called you 'savior' earlier, it wasn't a slip of the tongue."

Emma nodded. Weeks ago, at her request, he'd agreed to reserve that moniker for times of crisis. She couldn't say this wasn't one of them. "Yeah."

She saw her father approaching and shot him an inquiring look as he joined them at the table.

"Your mother isn't taking the news well," David admitted. "Understandably." He looked from Emma to Rumple. "I think we'll need to meet tomorrow—all of us—and figure out a plan of action."

"By 'all of us,'" Emma said, "you mean…?"

"Well, your mother, of course. Belle. Regina, though we should meet a bit later in the day—she went back to her vault after we came here, saying something about cooking up a few spells that might help. I don't think meeting first thing in the morning is going to catch her at her best after pulling an all-nighter." He thought for a moment. "Do you think we should bring August up to speed, too?"

Emma started to nod, but Rumple shook his head. "Ideally, yes, but he won't be able to be here tomorrow."

Emma uttered a mild expletive. "That's right," she groaned. "I forgot. There's a woodworking trade show in Boston this week. And now that the barrier's down again, he thought it would be good to check it out." She shook her head. "You want to call him?" she asked Rumple. Her phone was out. "I could—"

Even as Rumple started to nod, he held up a hand to stop her. "Tomorrow, perhaps. I… don't care to rehash this any further tonight. And you do realize that as soon as he's been informed, he _will_ want to discuss matters."

Emma nodded back. "Yeah, I hear that. Okay. We'll hold off for now." She turned to David. "Better hide Mom's phone or…"

She was only half-joking on that one, but there was nothing remotely humorous about the appreciative look in Rumple's eyes.

"So," she went on, pocketing her own phone, "tomorrow." She looked back to Rumple. "Should we meet at the shop or would you prefer somewhere else?"

It was a fair question. The shop was, indisputably, his territory. He was more at ease there than anywhere else in town. At the same time, the shop was the place from which he'd been abducted earlier today. The savior was doing her best to avoid making assumptions about his preferences. Rumple considered carefully. "The shop will do," he said finally. "Shall we say, sometime in the afternoon?"

"Two o'clock?" David asked. "Neal should be done with his feeding by then and it'll be after the lunch rush, so Granny should be able to watch him."

Rumple nodded. "That sounds fine."

Belle arrived with takeout then, putting an end to any further conversation.

* * *

It was foolish to walk by the shore alone with the sea witch about, particularly at this hour, but Killian Jones had much on his mind. Emma hadn't divulged many details about what had transpired earlier, but a man for whom mutiny was a professional hazard learned to stay alive by listening to what he _wasn't_ being told.

After everything that the Dark One had taken from him, every manipulation, every foul scheme he'd been forced to participate in, Killian was surprised to discover that his first reaction upon hearing what had befallen Rumpelstiltskin had been dismay—followed by relief that Emma and the others had located him so swiftly.

He'd sworn on Milah's crushed heart and his own severed hand that he would not rest until he'd exacted his vengeance on the Crocodile. A truce was one thing; it was useful to know that one could walk down the street and not be stabbed in the back or turned into a hardtack biscuit without warning. But apparently, matters ran deeper than a mere ceasefire, and Killian wasn't entirely certain he liked it.

He'd moved on from Milah, true. But didn't he owe her memory some favor for those glorious years they'd spent at one another's side? Could he truly let all of that… go? What of his oath? What of his honor?

He rubbed his forehead with some measure of irritation. There had to be a way to go forward without going back on his word. And, ironically, the person best able to spot loopholes was the last person he wanted to talk this over with. Besides, he doubted that Rumpelstiltskin would be in any mood for this sort of conversation for the foreseeable future. So. Here he was trying to find some way out of this… boondoggle, and since he always thought better by the sea, well… Here he was.

As he watched, a large wave rose up from the ocean and drew close to the shore. Instead of breaking several yards out, though, it climbed high, higher, higher.

Wide-eyed, Killian leaped to his feet. Tidal waves shouldn't be a danger this far north…!

The wave towered over him and, though he knew it was futile, he shut his eyes and flung up his hands as though _that_ would stave off his doom.

And then he reeled back from shock as the wave crashed over him—ice cold, but with a great deal less force—and water—than he'd anticipated. His eyes flew open to the sting of saltwater streaming into them, blurring the scene before him. Before his vision could clear once more, a stinging slap landed on his cheek and a furious voice snarled, "That was for making Blackbeard walk the plank!"

He swiped at the last of the water and immediately wanted to close his eyes once more. There were two mer-people standing before him. He recognized them both. Apparently, a man did not need to be aboard a scuttled ship to get a sinking feeling.

"Hello again, Captain," Ariel said coldly. "I think you've already met my grandfather?"

He had indeed. And although it wasn't exactly good form to curse before royalty, he couldn't quite keep a groan of "Bloody hell!" from escaping his lips.

* * *

"This is cold, dahling," Cruella snipped when she opened the Styrofoam clamshell.

"It was a long walk back," Ursula shrugged. "Oh, and the liquor store was closed at this hour, so no champagne. I'm afraid you'll have to choose between soda and non-alcoholic beer."

Cruella leaned back on the sofa, raising her wrist to her eyes in a melodramatic gesture. "Soda," she sighed. "At least it's not pretending to be something it's not."

Lily noticed what else Ursula had with her. "You went back to the cellar."

"Hard to work magic without ingredients, Lily," Ursula pointed out.

"And you wanted to check up on him."

Ursula shrugged.

"Bet she fed him, too," Cruella smirked.

Ursula shook her head. "No, I didn't feed him." She took a breath. "Actually… he wasn't there."

"Wait. What?" Lily snapped.

"The cellar was empty. And there wasn't enough left of the cage to hold a goldfinch."

Lily thought about that. "Well, I guess that's that, then," she sighed. "I mean, we can't go searching for him without some idea of where he is. At least we didn't discuss what we were up to while he was in the car. He can't share what he doesn't know."

"True, dahling, but he's remarkably good at guessing games." Cruella sighed. "We're going to have to move quickly. As soon as the heroes find out what we did to Zelena, they'll go to him for assistance. And once he starts connecting those dots…"

"Regina was still at her vault as of an hour ago," Ursula said. "Short of camping out in the graveyard and waiting for her to drive off…"

"Afraid my Golden Spirit isn't the most inconspicuous of getaway vehicles," Cruella admitted. "But if she's there all night, she'll likely be sleeping the morning away. And much as I'd prefer to do the same," she sighed, "I suppose I could turn in now. We'll drive back to the vault in the morning and the two of you can work your magic—or whatever it is Lilith has—on its defenses. We can have that heart and be well away before the heroes know what's hit them."

* * *

As a boy, Killian had always taken the tales about the mer-folk with a grain of salt. He'd been in his thirties before he met his first and, even before then, he'd never quite believed the stories of how they loved to lead a vessel to its doom. Time and experience, however, had taught him well the truth of those sailor's yarns. It was official. The three merfolk with the most reason to hate him were now within the confines of the same town. And they all seemed to have a penchant for drenching him with the waters of the North Atlantic.

"Poseidon," he gritted. "It's been a long time."

The ruler of the mer-folk raised his hand in a gesture that might almost have been placating. "Peace, Captain. I mean you no harm tonight."

"The ice bath says otherwise," Killian snapped.

"I needed to ensure I had your undivided attention." Poseidon took a step onto the shore. "Many years ago, you took something of mine. I'd like it back."

"Something?" Killian repeated. "Are you certain you don't mean _someone_?"

Poseidon inclined his head in tacit acknowledgment. "If you relinquish the one," he said, "I've high hopes that I'll retrieve the other."

Killian shook his head. "Unfortunately, may— _Your Majesty_ ," he amended hastily—Poseidon, ruler of the mer-folk was not now nor ever would be a 'mate' to him—"I no longer have what you seek."

"No?" Poseidon asked skeptically. "Am I to believe that you sold or bartered it for… rum?"

"Hardly," Killian snapped. "The shell was on my vessel. And while I did trade it away, it was for something far harder to come by than strong drink—passage to this realm. Now that I'm here, unfortunately, I've no way back to the Enchanted Forest to retrieve what once was mine. Believe me, your Majesty, I've been trying." He paused a beat. "In case you weren't aware, your daughter's here."

"Here?" From Poseidon's expression, it was clear to Killian that the ruler of the ocean depths hadn't been expecting that tiding.

"Aye," he nodded. "She is. When I learned of her presence, I thought to find some means of returning to my ship and either buying it back or fighting its current captain for her possession." He shrugged. "It was my hope that if I restored to her that which I'd taken, she might forgive me the wrong I did her. Alas, passage between realms does not come easy for one such as I and no ready means has, of yet, presented itself."

"Wait," Ariel spoke up for the first time since her previous greeting. "If it's on your ship… Grandfather, where—?"

"My treasure vault," Poseidon replied swiftly. He twisted a coral ring from his finger and handed it to her. "Show this to the guards as a sign you're acting on my orders. They'll bring it to you. And Ariel," he smiled gently, "I know that cavern holds many wonders. Stay focused on the one for which you're going and return here as swiftly as you can."

Ariel bowed her head and dipped her waist. "As my lord and grandfather commands," she said demurely. Then, with a giggle, she ran from the shore into the lapping waves. When the water was just past her waist, she raised her arms over her head and dove beneath the surface, kicking her legs up behind her. In the moonlight, Killian saw them shimmer and then fuse together in a long tail tipped by a delicate lunate fin. After a moment, it too disappeared beneath the ocean.

Poseidon turned to Killian with a reluctant sigh. "I suppose we'll have a bit of a wait."

Killian nodded, somewhat dazed yet by the turn events had taken. "Your granddaughter," he ventured. "Forgive me, your Majesty, but can she pilot a ship? Or do you have a crew capable of such a feat?"

Poseidon shook his head. "That won't be necessary. Your ship won't carry her. _She'll_ carry _it_." At Killian's even more befuddled expression, the mer-king chuckled. "To hear Ariel tell it, it would seem that the most recent captain of that vessel managed to annoy the Queen of Arendelle. She found a way to neutralize its potential as a threat."

 _Arendelle?_ Killian tilted his head questioningly. From what he knew of Elsa's power… "She encased it in ice?"

Poseidon's smile widened. "Not precisely…"

* * *

"I thought this might help," Belle said, as she came into the living room from the kitchen, an earthenware mug in hand. "It's a little fancier than warm milk, but it's worked for me when I've wanted to relax before bed."

Rumple looked up with an uncertain smile, but he took the mug and murmured his thanks. "Aniseed?" he asked, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

"I developed a taste for it back in Arendelle. I… guess I should have asked if you liked the flavoring; I know it's not always popular."

"I do," Rumple said quickly. "Thank you." He took another sip. "And… thank you for everything you did earlier. I…"

Belle shook her head. "I didn't do much. Emma and David noticed that the shop's back door was unlocked and that you'd lost your cane in the alley. Henry found your message." She smiled bitterly. "Roland told Robin where you were. Regina and Emma blasted the locks on the cellar and cage doors. I—"

Rumple set the mug down on the end table and gripped her hands in his. "You were there," he said. "That's enough."

"It doesn't feel like it," Belle muttered. Then she caught herself. "I'm sorry."

Rumple shook his head. "How did the others find out that I was missing? I can't imagine that anyone but you would have come by the shop after hours. They might have texted my phone. Or, if it were a real emergency, I suppose they might have come here. But the shop?"

Belle's eyes widened. "I-I did go back there when you didn't answer my call."

"And you saw something that concerned you enough to call the others."

Belle winced. "I'm afraid the back room's a bit of a disaster."

"Which you didn't write off as my having had a fit of temper." He gave her a pained smile. "I do have those from time to time."

"Not recently," Belle pointed out.

"Not yet." Rumple corrected. He exhaled heavily. "Don't make the mistake of thinking that the Darkness was responsible for all my shortcomings. In many cases, it simply gave free rein to urges I'd always possessed. Before it entered my life, I merely lacked the courage or power to actualize them. That may no longer hold true." He took another breath and gave her a real smile as his grip tightened on her hands.

"I was trying to point out to you, Belle that more than one person was involved in my rescue tonight. While I'm probably more astonished than you by that fact," his nervous chuckle belied the wonder in his eyes, "surely you must realize that such rescue might not have happened at all—and certainly not so quickly—had you not recognized that something was amiss." He drew her toward him. "Without your phone call to set things in motion, I…" Despite himself, he felt his heart pound as the memory of those wretched hours crashed over him anew, "I'd likely still be down there."

Belle closed her eyes and rested her head on his shoulder. "And we still don't know what they wanted of you. Whether it was revenge or… or…"

He shook his head. "No."

She pulled slightly away and locked her eyes on his. "Are we safe here?"

Rumple sighed. "As safe as we can be anywhere. But you might want to take the gun out of the end table and keep it on your person, as I asked earlier."

Belle flinched guiltily. "Carrying it about made me nervous."

"Your failure to carry it about makes _me_ nervous."

Belle nodded. "I understand. I'll take it with me in the morning."

Rumple sighed again, this time with no small measure of relief. "Well. It's late. And tomorrow will bring new trials. I suppose we'd best get to bed."

Belle's eyes widened slightly. "D-did you mean… 'Get to bed' get to bed?"

Rumple's mouth hung partly open and Belle was instantly ashamed of herself. They were supposed to be taking things slowly. And she'd already probably made enough of a mess tonight between acting like the worst thing about tonight had been that she hadn't single-handedly taken on Ursula, Cruella, and Lily, and worse, carrying on like she'd been the one who'd suffered most this evening. And to even suggest what she'd just suggested after everything Rumple had just gone through demonstrated an insensitivity that bordered on callousness. But then, Rumple replied with a hesitant smile, "I-I suppose I did." And a moment later, he amended nervously, "But only if it's something you truly want."

She embraced him anew. "It is."

* * *

Even though Poseidon had explained the fate of his ship to him, Killian couldn't quite suppress a groan of dismay when Ariel finally returned with the bottle.

"Patience, Captain," Poseidon smiled. "My magic is more than a match for some land-dwelling queen's."

"Aye?" Killian asked.

Poseidon fixed him with a steely look. "Aye."

Suddenly the _Jolly Roger_ was out of its bottle and in the sea king's hand. For a moment, Poseidon held the shrunken ship before him, its bow facing him. Then he drew back his hand and flung it backwards into the ocean. The ship seemed to inflate in mid-air like a child's balloon. Its keel and hull spread, its masts thickened, and its canvas sails expanded, billowing as they caught the east wind. It was full-sized when it hit the water and slightly over a mile out from shore. "I didn't want to scuttle her, by landing her too close to shore" Poseidon remarked in a tone that was nearly apologetic. "And being more accustomed to the oceans depths than these shallows, I thought it better to err on the side of caution."

Killian nodded. "I thank you, then. Unfortunately, this means that I'll need to wait till morning to procure a boat I might use as a tender to reach my ship."

Ariel tilted her head. "You're not just planning to take one?"

Killian shook his. "I don't expect you to believe me," he replied with a pained expression. "Not after what I did. But I am trying to be the man you believed me to be when first we met. I'm not saying I wouldn't borrow a craft in advance of the owner's permission if there were no other way, but if that shell is yet aboard the _Jolly Roger_ , it's been there many years already. A few more hours shan't matter. And if it isn't, then taking the craft will only incur its owner's enmity with no profit to me." He smiled tightly. "I may yet lack a hero's moral compass, but there's wisdom in taking a pragmatic approach."

"I could carry you," Poseidon remarked.

Killian winced. "My apologies, Your Majesty, but I've only just begun to dry off. I've no desire to be soaked anew."

The sea king considered that. "Very well. As you say, a few more hours shouldn't matter over much. But do not tarry long."

"The harbor opens with the morning watch," Killian remarked. "By two bells into it, there should be a number of fishing folk preparing to take advantage of the thaw to try to catch something early in the season. I'm certain I can prevail upon one of them to row me out there."

He debated whether to point out to Poseidon that offering to restore Ursula's voice to her might not suffice for the reconciliation he so wanted, but he decided to remain silent. There was less point in borrowing trouble where it might not be warranted than in borrowing a fishing boat where the owner might yet grant permission if one only waited to ask it. One watched for bad weather to become imminent before battening one's hatches, after all.

* * *

Rumple was asleep now, the charm against nightmares around his neck and clasped loosely in one hand. Belle slid out of the bed carefully so as not to awaken him and picked up her robe from the floor. She shrugged into it and, unable to find her slippers in the faint light filtering in from the street outside, padded barefoot to the half-opened door and out into the hallway.

She couldn't sleep. She was still trying to work through everything that had happened today, both good and bad. And she couldn't shake the conviction that she should have been able to do more to help. What, she couldn't say. But there had to have been something.

Months ago, the Snow Queen's mirror had played on her fears and magnified doubts she hadn't known she'd had. Rumple had convinced her that it had been lying to her and she'd believed him because she'd wanted to.

But it hadn't been lying about the dagger being a fake.

And it hadn't been lying about how she'd abandoned Anna.

So, had it been lying when it had told her that she'd never been cut out to be a hero?

"I saved Philip," she told herself fiercely. "I helped Mulan."

But she hadn't done much since then, had she? Despite Rumple's reassurances, Belle couldn't shake the feeling that sounding an alert wasn't nearly as important as going out and _fighting_. True, there hadn't been any of that tonight either, but there would be. And when there was, she knew how it would go.

_"Belle, we need you to translate this inscription."_

_"Belle, could you look something up for us?"_

_"Belle, stay here on the sidelines where you'll be safe."_

She clenched the fabric of her nightgown in her fists, drew her elbows tight to her sides, closed her eyes and took several deep breaths. Being a hero meant facing danger, not hiding from it! Her eyes flew open. She _was_ going to be part of whatever was coming next. A big part. She shook her head in exasperation. Emma was already talking about how they were going to deal with those villains, but the savior didn't have a clue about how she could even find them, much less stop them!

But, Belle sat up a little straighter, maybe _she_ would have better luck. After all, she'd tracked a yaoguai to its lair on her own. She'd been clever enough to mislead the other hunters, at least, temporarily. She knew _something_ of unarmed combat, thanks to her kickboxing lessons. She could use a sword somewhat. And…

Belle sucked in her breath. She closed her eyes once more, deliberating with herself. Then she exhaled and nodded silently. Padding over to the end table, she pulled open the drawer and retrieved the Walther PPK from where she'd left it. She was about to fasten it about her waist, when she realized that it was a bit silly to do so while she was still in her nightgown.

She tiptoed back upstairs to make a quick stop in the bedroom she'd been occupying until tonight. Her regular handbag wasn't going to be suitable; Rumple had given her one with a concealed carry pocket. Until now, she hadn't wanted to use it, but she had to store the weapon somewhere and she wasn't about to sleep with it under her pillow.

Tomorrow, she'd decide whether to keep it in the purse or wear it holstered on the belt. For now? It was time to sleep. She carried the bag with her to the master bedroom, leaving it beside her neatly laid-out clothing before she crept back into bed beside her husband.


End file.
